


Life Is What Happens

by Magfreak



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-03 14:00:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 41,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10968702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magfreak/pseuds/Magfreak
Summary: A post-3x05 rewrite of Downton Abbey Series 3 and Series 4 in which Sybil lives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-imagining of series 3 and series 4 that changes nothing about what happened on the show except for Sybil's death. Obviously, her very presence will have changed how certain things played out, but everything else that happened in series 3 still happened, up to and including Edith being left at altar and Matthew's death. Most of the chapters will be short, a scene or two, recreating what happened on the show, with Sybil present.

It took a few minutes for Sybil to recognize the Downton hospital ceiling. Her vision was fuzzy, as eyes are after a long sleep. There was also the matter of a splitting headache that seemed to grow worse every second she was conscious. She opened her mouth to speak but her tongue felt too heavy and sticky to move, let alone form words.

She closed her eyes again and some of it began to come back.

* * *

_The sharp pains in her back start in the wee hours._

_Dr. Clarkson checks her over._

_She tells Mary that they've chosen to do a Catholic baptism._

_There's a doctor she doesn't recognize. He walks about the room but never speaks to her directly. He doesn't so much as introduce himself. Edith comes to see her. Her parents. Tom._

* * *

"Tom?" Her own voice sounded foreign to her.

* * *

_He holds her hand, touches her face._

_She sees the trace of fear in his eyes. She wants to tell him it's going to be all right, but something in the back of her mind worries her, like a forgotten task._

_He wants to go to Liverpool._

_She says something about the stars and throws her head back into the memory, holding him tightly on a chilly night atop the roof of their building blanketed by love and Dublin's night sky._

* * *

Sybil cleared her throat. "Tom?"

* * *

_She doesn't remember anything else._

* * *

Sybil pulled at her heavy limbs in an effort to sit up and cried out at the sudden and searing pain in her abdomen. "Tom?" She called again, her racing heart rate now truly waking her from her previous stupor.

"She's awake! Hurry, she's awake!"

It was the voice of Isobel, but Tom's was the face she saw first.

"Praise God!" Tom exclaimed, his voice breaking. "It's all right, my darling. You're going to be all right."

Tom leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her forehead, cognizant of her still fragile state, and brushed her hair from her face and neck with his fingers.

"Tom, the baby!" Sybil squeaked out, blinking away the tears and seeing tears in his eyes and in the eyes of Isobel standing behind him.

"Oh, love, she's beautiful," Tom said, grinning like Sybil had never seen him do. "She's perfect."

Sybil let out a sob. "It's a girl?"

"Yes, love, a beautiful girl and she's been crying for her mam since she was born."

"How long ago was it?" Sybil asked, a trace of desperation in her voice as she wondered how much she had missed.

"Just a day a half," Tom said, squeezing her hands. "She's been fine. You've not missed anything."

Sybil, overcome with relief and joy, pulled on Tom's hand until he was close enough for her to put her arms around him and sobbed into him for several minutes.

"Would you like to meet your daughter?" He said into her neck. Sybil laughed and pulled away. "Oh, yes."

"I'll go get her."

"She's still here in the hospital?" Sybil asked.

"Of course," he said. "We weren't going to leave here without you. Just wait a moment."

As Tom walked to fetch the baby from her bassinet at the other end of the ward, Isobel approached carefully and offered Sybil a hand so she could sit up.

"What happened?" Sybil asked practically whispering.

Isobel looked into Sybil's eyes and immediately saw the question. It was the nurse in Sybil who was asking. "It was eclampsia, my dear," Isobel said solemnly. "Are you familiar with it?"

Sybil nodded. She looked down at her still swollen torso and gently pressed her hands against her lower abdomen. She winced despite the lightness of her touch. "Is there an infection?"

"Yes, but thankfully, a mild one," Isobel answered. "I assisted Dr. Clarkson with the procedure myself. He took exceedingly good care of you. You know that I wouldn't say this lightly, but in this case, I believe it to be true. He saved—"

"My life," Sybil said, finishing the thought for her. "You did, too," she added with a light smile. "I don't remember you at the house."

"I don't want you to worry over this," Isobel said sitting at the edge of the bed and taking Sybil's hand, "but there was some . . . disagreement as to what was happening to you. Matthew called me in the middle of it at Tom's request."

"I'm so glad he did," Sybil said. Her smile warmed Isobel's heart.

It had been a fight unlike any Isobel had witnessed, but sense had won out. Thanks, at least in part, to a well placed punch. _I'll let him tell her that part_ , Isobel thought with a smile.

Hearing Tom approach, Isobel regarded Sybil for a long moment and looked like she was going to say something else, but instead stood to give Tom room.

Sybil felt a small weight settle gently on her heart as she watched Tom walk toward her with the tiny bundle in his arms. He sat down on the edge of the bed and very gingerly shifted the small child into Sybil's arms. The baby had been asleep when Tom picked her up out of her bassinet, but as she settled into her mother's arms, seemingly recognizing the momentousness of this moment, she opened her eyes and saw her mother looking back at her. Her tiny mouth opened into something like a smile.

"Hello, my lovely girl," Sybil said as more tears fell on her cheeks. Sybil tugged at the swaddle to let the baby's arms free. "Oh, Tom, how did we manage it? She's everything I thought she'd be."

"She's her mother's daughter. There's no denying that."

Sybil looked up at Tom and smiled. "I love her. And you. So much."

Tom laughed and leaned in for a kiss. "Oh, darling, so much love fills my heart now, it might well burst." He sat back and then scratched his head sheepishly. "Though I wonder if you'll be singing a different tune when I tell you what it took to get you to the hospital."

Sybil furrowed her brow. "What it took?"

"Your father was being wholly unreasonable and insisted that Sir Philip Tapsell be listened to over the objections of both Isobel and Dr. Clarkson. Downton is his house, but I wasn't going to let him have the last word when it comes to my family. And honestly, love, I never would have done it if I didn't think the situation absolutely dire. Though I'm afraid I confirmed his worst assumptions of me in the process."

"What are you talking about?"

Tom took a deep breath. "I . . . well, I . . ."

Sybil rolled her eyes with a laugh. "Tom, just say it!"

"I knocked his lights out."


	2. Chapter 2

 

Miss Sybil Keelin Branson and her mother remained in the hospital for a full month, and it almost took that long for the latter to agree to share a name with her daughter.

Having failed to come to an agreement prior to her birth, Tom and Sybil had made the informal arrangement that Tom would name the child if Sybil gave birth to a girl and she would if the child was a boy. Given how it all turned out, Tom was in awe of Sybil's strength in bringing the baby into the world and simply wouldn't take no for an answer. To both his and Sybil's surprise, he found supporters in just about everyone in the family.

The length of the hospital stay was due to Sybil's infection, which didn't worsen but weakened her considerably and caused her legs to swell even more than they'd been in the days leading up to her delivery. "Sybbie," nicknamed by her Uncle Matthew, only stayed in the hospital to be with her mother, who within a week of waking was able to relieve the wet nurse her parents had hired of her duties.

Tom, committed to the promise that neither he nor the baby would leave the hospital without her, insisted on staying as long as Sybil did, but by the end of Sybbie's second week, Sybil saw how stir-crazy he was getting and, to let him off the hook, asked Dr. Clarkson to tell Tom that the bed he was using was needed elsewhere in the hospital. When Tom suggested the floor would suffice, Sybil, in turn, suggested his eagerness to stay close was actually an effort to avoid his father-in-law. Cora had brokered a fragile peace between the two men. In a private moment that was among the most heated in their long marriage, Cora told Robert that if Sybil had died at Sir Philip Tapsell's hands, she would never have forgiven Robert and would have expected him never to forgive himself. So Tom returned to the house (if only to sleep) and Robert made no more mention of the incident.

He didn't at least, until Tom's return also brought with it the revelation that Sybbie would be baptized a Catholic. So it was that almost as soon as Robert had forgiven Tom for one offense, another—a graver one—came to take its place.

The fight began on the first morning Tom was back at the house, when Edith, over breakfast with her father and brothers-in-law, asked the seemingly innocuous question of whether he and Sybil had discussed the date and arrangements for the baby's christening. Given Sybil's still fragile health, it was likely the event would have to be put off several weeks if Sybil was going to attend. Wanting to make herself useful, Edith volunteered to call on Mr. Travis that very day.

"Why Mr. Travis?" Tom asked, curious and without thinking.

"To fix the date," Edith answered.

"But Sybbie will be Catholic," Tom said.

"What?!"

All eyes turned to Robert at the head of the table.

Tom closed his eyes to stop himself from rolling them in exasperation. After taking a deep breath, he said, "My daughter is Irish, and she'll be Catholic like her father."

"Are her mother's wishes of no concern to you?" Robert asked, incensed.

"They are my _primary_ concern," Tom answered forcefully. "These are her wishes."

"Only because you've forced them upon her!"

"Papa!" Edith called out.

Robert stood and threw his napkin on his plate. "You've seen what he's capable of? Are you honestly not afraid for your sister's happiness and well being?"

Edith looked at her father with a mix of anger and sadness in her eyes that surprised Robert to see. "She chose a partner who is willing to forgo politeness and stand up to your bullying for the sake of love when it's the right thing to do. Would that I had been so lucky." Overcome with emotion over the sting of a memory still too raw, Edith ran out of the room.

Robert turned to face Tom again, who along with Matthew had stood as Edith left. "This isn't over."

"I've told you time and again Sybil has her own mind," Tom said wearily. "I am no more able to control it or her than you ever were. The difference between us is that I don't want to."

"More than that separates you and me."

With that Robert left the two young men alone. They sat back down to finish their breakfast, though Tom suddenly felt free of appetite. He looked over at Matthew.

"I'm not sorry that I hit him," Tom said after a moment. "At least in so far as doing so led to getting control of the situation and getting her to the hospital. But I'm sorry that I'll have made things more difficult for Sybil with her family."

Matthew smiled kindly. "There's no need to be sorry, Tom. Robert will come around."

Tom raised a skeptical eyebrow, causing Matthew to chuckle. "I'll admit _I_ will always be his favorite son-in-law."

Tom couldn't help but laugh at this.

"But in all seriousness, a punch is the least I would have done if it were Mary. I can't say that there will ever be full agreement between the two of you, but eventually he'll see that all you're doing is taking care of your family as you and Sybil have deemed fit."

"You'll be a very different earl than he is . . . not that I know a thing about it," Tom said with a smile.

"Let's hope so," Matthew said. "I'm afraid keeping this house depends on it."

"Are things with the estate really that bad?" Tom asked.

Mathew sighed. "The way it's been run until now . . . there's no future in it. I just have to get Robert and Jarvis to see that."

Tom smiled and looked down at his plate.

"I'm going to look at one of the vacant plots this morning," Matthew said standing. "You could join me if you like."

Tom shrugged, standing as well. "Why not. I think Sybil is getting tired of me hovering over her."

"And I have a feeling Robert will go talk to her about the christening. It's probably best she set him right about that without you there."

Tom smiled. "He thinks _I'm_ stubborn."

* * *

Sybil had seen this fight coming. She hadn't, however, expected it to come to her.

Matthew had been right about Robert going straight to see her in the hospital after breakfast. What neither he nor Sybil could have guessed was that he'd stop at the church to fetch the Rev. Travis as reinforcement.

"Papa, I know it's hard for you—"

"Sybil, there hasn't been a Catholic Crawley since the Reformation!"

"My daughter isn't a Crawley, papa, she's a Branson!"

Red-faced, Robert pressed on. "The only chance that child will have of achieving anything in life is because—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence!" The anger rising in Sybil was such she could feel the blood rush into her own reddened face. She felt her pulse at her temples and at the still tender incision on her torso and pushed her hands against the bed as if trying to stand, but no movement she was capable of at the moment could release everything that was building in her right now. She looked over at the bassinet next to her bed, and the sight of her child, sleeping peacefully, served to calm her enough to speak again. "Sybbie will achieve anything she sets her mind to because she will have parents who will support her _unfailingly_. Who I am and who Tom is will have no bearing on that save for how loved she will be."

Duly chastened, Robert simply began to pace the floor at the foot of Sybil's bed to dissolve his pique.

Seeing that the argument was finished, Sybil turned to Mr. Travis, who stood in the corner, wondering how he'd found himself if the middle of all of this.

"Mr. Travis, I do hope my father hasn't inconvenienced you terribly by bringing you here this morning."

The aging vicar stepped forward with his usual stern smile. "Not to worry, Lady Sybil. Seeing to the spiritual needs of the children of my church is never an inconvenience. His lordship simply wanted me to offer some guidance and I am happy to offer it. Anglican worship is pleasing to God. Your father isn't wrong to want to remind you of it."

"Please, don't see it as a personal slight, Mr. Travis, but I haven't the energy for theological discussion at the moment. My husband and I have made our decision."

Mr. Travis leaned forward slightly as if he was about to say something else, but thought better of it and turned to leave.

Sybil added, "I know I've never been the most pious of the Crawley daughters, but that's not to say that I was never listening."

Mr. Travis turned to face her again and gave her a genuine smile. Then, he said his goodbyes and left father, daughter and granddaughter to settle things themselves.

In her bassinet, Sybbie began to stir and Robert walked over to her. He put his hand on her head and gently rubbed the patch of brown hair atop it.

"Do you suppose she'll give me as much trouble as I've given you?"

The corners of Robert's lips curved up into a reluctant smile. "It would be only fair."

Sybil smiled. "Pick her up?"

"What?"

"I can't stand and get her myself, so you have to do it for me."

Robert looked around. "Where's your nurse?"

Sybil laughed. "Papa, don't be silly. Pick up your granddaughter!"

Robert nervously slid his hands underneath Sybbie's back and carefully lifted her.

"Pull her into your chest, so she can rest her head," Sybil instructed.

Robert did so and smiled even more widely as he felt Sybbie curl up against his chest. He sat down on the edge of Sybil's bed and shifted to pass the baby over.

"No," Sybil said. "Hold her for a while. She's yours too."

Robert shifted his arms again so he was cradling her. "Miss Sybil Branson," he said looking down at her. "The world better be ready for you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter rewrote one storyline for 3x06 (how the family finds out and accepts Sybbie being christened a Catholic), and took place July 1920, which was the month Sybbie was born. This chapter and the next few get into some of the other storylines in both 3x06 and 3x07, but I've re-arranged the order of how several things unfold in part because Sybil's presence will have changed the course of events and because I need to set up how and why Tom and Sybil stay living in the house as long as they do. Realistically, they'd probably have gone as soon as she was well again, but, again, because I am re-writing series four with Sybil present, this story accepts the reality of where things stand in 4x01 and them still living in the house two years after Sybil has given birth, and I want to set up how/why they stay there so long.
> 
> The two main things that change are (1) the luncheon that Isobel hosts that Robert storms into because of Ethel will happen after the baptism, not before as in canon, and (2) Matthew will offer Tom the agent's job *before* Kieran arrives for the baptism. Matthew offers the job not because Violet suggests it as in canon but for reasons that will become clear. Everything else more or less happens on the same timeline as the show.
> 
> This chapter takes place between 3x06 and 3x07, so about August 1920, now a full month since Sybbie's birth and with Sybil back at the house.

 

"Are you really not going to hire a nanny?" Mary asked Sybil as the latter took her first tentative steps on her bedroom carpet with support from both of her sisters.

"Why in the world would I hire a nanny?" Sybil asked.

Edith looked at her sister like she'd sprouted two heads. "For starters, you can barely walk from one end of the room to the other."

"That's what sisters are for," Sybil said with a teasing smile.

Sybil had only arrived home yesterday, but she was already eager to follow Dr. Clarkson's orders to walk regularly as much as possible to improve her circulation and continue to reduce the swelling in her lower legs and feet. The infection had passed and her incision had begun to scar normally. All that was left was for her body to slowly return to normal strength, which she could easily do at home. Sybil was ever so grateful for the care she had received at the hospital but was, nevertheless, all too happy to be home with Tom, Sybbie and the rest of her family.

Of course, she hadn't been home one hour when her mother asked when she'd begin looking into hiring a nanny, Cora assuming that Sybil would want to do the interviews herself rather than leave it to Mrs. Hughes. Sybil surprised her mother by saying she had not needed the wet nurse and likewise a nanny would be superfluous. Cora argued that given her health, the extra help would be sorely needed, but Sybil was adamant. Tom pointed out that while they got back on their feet and he found a job, he'd be more than happy to pull his weight with the baby. For Cora, that was not an appropriate solution, but she let the matter lie for the time being, knowing that even such stubborn and proud creatures as her youngest daughter and her husband would reach a breaking point when it came for caring for a newborn.

After several laps around the room with the help of Edith and Mary, Sybil was able to move on her own, holding onto the wall as her sisters watched, Edith from the armchair in the room and Mary from the bed.

"Does it hurt?" Edith asked, watching Sybil wince as she took each step.

"Does what hurt?" Sybil asked back.

"Your incision, your legs, any of it?" Edith replied.

Sybil sighed as she continued taking tentative steps. "Not really. Not anymore. It's stiffness more than pain. It feels good just to be out of bed, to be honest."

"I'm so glad you're feeling better, darling," Mary said, "Does this mean you'll be coming down to dinner tonight? I can tell Anna to come help."

"I don't think so," Sybil said, heading back over to the bed, absolutely spent. "I would think she's got enough to do. With Bates' pending release, I'd hate to take any more of her time. Besides, my feet don't fit into my shoes anymore. After papa and granny fussed about Tom wearing a tuxedo to dinner instead of tails, how do you think I'll be received if I dine in my bedroom slippers?"

"Won't they return to their normal size, eventually?" Edith asked. "Once the swelling has gone down?"

Sybil swung her legs back on the bed and laid back against the headboard, grateful for the rest. "My nurse at the hospital said it's not uncommon for a woman's hands or feet to change size permanently after pregnancy."

"Gracious," Edith said.

"There isn't much to endorse the condition, that's for sure," Mary said, coming around to the other side of the bed to help Sybil back under the covers.

"Well, I suppose there's hope it'll be easier the second time around," Sybil said.

"Second time?" Mary said, surprised. "Do you mean you plan to go through this again? Aren't you afraid it'll be worse?"

"Are _you_ afraid?" Edith cut in looking at Mary. "Is that what's kept you waiting?"

Sybil felt Mary stiffen next to her immediately. Sybil tried to catch her eyes, but Mary was looking at the ground, obviously not eager to continue this strain of conversation.

"What happened to me is extremely rare," Sybil said quietly. "And anyway, once I was given the proper care, it all turned out fine. Neither of you have anything to worry about."

"Edith certainly doesn't," Mary couldn't stop herself from saying.

"Mary!" Sybil said.

"It's all right, Sybil," Edith said, standing. "I'll go see if Tom needs any help outside with the pram."

Sybil watched Edith walk to the door, and with one sad look back, she was gone. Sybil turned to Mary, who was now sitting on the edge of the bed by Sybil's feet. "That was uncalled for. You know how hard it's been for her since Sir Anthony—"

"We're not waiting."

"What?"

Mary took a deep breath. "We're not waiting to have a child. We just . . . haven't had one."

Sybil narrowed her eyes slightly. "Mary?"

Mary, as if suddenly realizing she didn't want to discuss the topic, stood to leave. "I'll leave you to rest."

"Mary, wait," Sybil called out.

"I'm all right Sybil," Mary answered not looking back.

"Mary, you've barely been married six months."

Mary stopped at the door and finally looked back at her sister. "It didn't take _you_ half that long."

"That doesn't mean anything," Sybil said.

"Me not having a child and Matthew having no heir? Sybil that would mean _everything_."

"Come sit down," Sybil said, patting the space next to her in bed.

Mary walked back over to her sister and sat down. Sybil took her hand. "Please don't worry about this, Mary. Enjoy being married and the rest will work itself out."

Mary smiled but Sybil could see it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Besides," Sybil added, lifting her nose in the air. "I won't have the heir of the heir of the Earl of Grantham take any attention away from my daughter."

Mary smiled again, this time genuinely. "She is quite something. Who knew papa could be so enraptured by such a tiny creature?"

"It's odd," Sybil said. "All she does is sleep, and I'll be watching her. Then I'll look up to the clock and an hour will have gone by."

"How is the christening going?" Mary asked.

"Tom's taken care of everything. It's all arranged with the Catholic church in Ripon."

"Were you going to tell us?" Mary asked, arching her eyebrow slightly.

Sybil smirked. "Of course, we were. It's not for another fortnight. Tom wanted to make sure I'd have some strength, so he put it off and I didn't want him to make too much hay of it before papa was fully used to the idea." Sybil paused, looking down at her hands, then said, "I've asked Edith to be her godmother. I hope you don't mind."

"Sybil, she's _your_ daughter, why would I mind?"

"Perhaps I thought you might have your heart set on it," Sybil said with a teasing tone.

"I'd have thought neither I nor Edith could be if she's Catholic," Mary replied.

"Tom says that only one godparent must be Catholic."

"Well, she'll make a fine one, and I do mean that even if you don't believe it."

"I know you do," Sybil said. "It's not me you need to convince that you do genuinely care for Edith."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Edith doesn't want to hear any of it from me. She'll only accuse me of gloating."

"She said she feels invisible," Sybil said more quietly.

"All women feel less than our full selves at any given time."

Sybil thought for a moment. "Did she tell you that the editor of the Sketch invited her to write her own column? She turned him down at papa's urging. I wish he wouldn't feel the need to stifle her at every turn or at least that she would defy him when he does."

Mary smiled. "Not all of us are built like you—or Tom for that matter."

"What do you mean?" Sybil asked.

"I can't say I've known many working men who've made the leap that he did in daring to fall in love with you—"

"Mary—"

"Hear me out!"

Sybil sighed. "Go on, then."

"What I mean to say is . . . it took strength for both of you to choose to marry. I recognize that now. For you it was a single act of defiance, but for Tom . . . every morning he sits at breakfast with papa, he crosses that boundary all over again."

"Who are you and what have you done with my snobbish sister?"

Mary looked away, as if embarrassed. "Those are Matthew's words, not mine. He likes Tom very much. Admires him, even. Having to listen to his gushing, I suppose I've been indoctrinated."

Sybil laughed. "That's a good word for it."

"Matthew's been fighting with papa about management of the estate. Tom has given him a bit of a shoulder to cry on and some support in trying to get his plan up and running. I don't think even Matthew realized how much he missed the presence of another man his age until you returned, and now he worries about how keen Tom is to leave again."

"We can't stay at Downton forever," Sybil said. "We've already stayed far longer than either of us imagined."

"You can't go back to Ireland. Sybil, he couldn't risk that."

"No, but there are other places we can go. It's not just Tom, Mary. _I_ couldn't possibly go back to dressing for dinner every night after living the freedom of not doing so for so long. The life we had in Dublin was wonderful—not what others would have chosen, I acknowledge, but it was perfect for us."

"But you won't leave soon, will you?" Mary asked, obviously concerned. "You have to heal properly."

"When Tom finds a job, that'll dictate the when. No British newspaper is going to hire an exiled Republican so we'll have to take what comes, whether it's here or elsewhere. Right now, I'm looking forward to the christening and don't know what's likely to happen much beyond that."

"Matthew mentioned something about Liverpool."

Sybil sighed. "His brother Kieran is newly arrived there. He's starting a business as a mechanic and wants Tom to go in with him."

"And you don't want him to?"

"It's not that. I just . . . oh, Mary he was doing so well at the newspaper. It took him a few months to find his feet, and many of his colleagues didn't consider him fully loyal because of me, but even so he was _thriving_. He does well with cars, but writing and politics are his dream, and it was in his grasp. To have to go backward now . . . leaving Dublin was hard enough for both of us. I don't want him to have to give this up too. Not yet anyway. But it'll be hard for him to turn down the offer. Kieran was terribly helpful and kind to us when we first arrived in Ireland, at a time when not many were."

"Did I meet him at your wedding?"

"No," Sybil said. "A cousin of theirs who was with the Volunteers got into some trouble fighting in Ulster about a week before you arrived. Kieran went to fetch him and took much longer that he planned to sort it out, so he missed the wedding. Mrs. Branson was beside herself. He's not very political himself, but steadfast in his support for his family. We've asked him to be Sybbie's godfather."

"So he'll be coming?"

Sybil nodded. "Tom thinks he should stay in the village."

"That's ridiculous!" Mary exclaimed.

Sybil smiled. "He's a bit of a rough diamond."

"I'm very fond of diamonds."

Sybil laughed at Mary's turn of phrase.

"But really Sybil, Tom needn't be embarrassed about his family."

Sybil laughed. "He's not! Unless you mean the Crawleys."

"Tom is embarrassed by us!?"

"Do you remember how granny and papa lectured him about not wearing the proper clothes to dinner when we first returned—and not having a morning suit for your wedding? Well, Kieran doesn't have any such clothes either, and while I've no problem asking Tom to compromise, I would never impose on Kieran! If papa pulled the same tricks again, it would be humiliating for us all, I can assure you."

Mary pursed her lips and said nothing.

"Don't be angry," Sybil said. "Kieran will come, he'll wear a perfectly fine suit and it'll all be all right."

"Have Tom give me the address and I'll have mama write him personally and say he's more than welcome to stay so long as he doesn't take you back with him."

Sybil smiled. "You know we can't promise anything, Mary."

"I do, but I also know you don't _have to_ go to Liverpool. If you can be willing to accept help from Tom's family, you can certainly accept it from us. You can stay here as long as you need. You _should,_ in fact, at least as long as you're back to full health."

Sybil sighed deeply and looked around her old room, one that for so long seemed like a trap, but she wasn't alone in this room anymore, and the bassinet in the corner was a reminder that she was nowhere near the same person. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, her favorite blue nightgown and her short, unkempt hair. Looking at Mary again, she said, "Yes, I suppose in my current state I couldn't walk out the door on my own—at least not as confidently as I did the first time I left—and Tom couldn't carry both of us."

Mary smiled, seemingly satisfied for the time being. "For what it's worth, I don't want you to go. Not far, anyway. And neither does Matthew. Or mama. Or anyone in the house, really. So it's you, against the lot of us."

Sybil smiled. "No different than before, then."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place about a week after the last chapter, with the baptism and Kieran's arrival still another week away. Lastly, there's a piece of dialogue that hints at how I arrived at the title of this story. Enjoy!

 

**August 1920**

Sybil had been home about a week when she finally began to join the family for her meals again, instead of taking them in her room. Her swelling was almost all gone, and although she still tired quickly, she was able to get around on her own.

It was Isobel who pointed out that her energy level had less to do with her recovery than with the fact that she was nursing Sybbie. Once Sybil began eating a bit more and drinking plenty of fluids, she felt better. The biscuit jar in her room that in earlier years went untouched, was now usually empty by the end of the day.

On the day that Edith had received a second letter from Michael Gregson regarding regular column in The Sketch, Edith and Sybil took Sybbie in the pram for a short walk in the afternoon. Mr. Bates had returned home from his wrongful stay in prison that very morning and Kieran was due to arrive for Sybbie's christening at the end of the week, so the house was abuzz in activity. Activity from which Edith felt continually excluded.

Edith hadn't anticipated how much she was going to miss Sybil, when she'd gone. As children they'd never been especially close. Sybil's natural curiosity drove her to play and explore the house and its grounds beyond boundaries Edith was not comfortable crossing. On top of which, Mary had learned to seize upon her shared interests with her youngest sister in order to underscore how alike and sisterly they were—as if their resemblance wasn't enough to make Edith feel like the odd duck already. But adulthood and maturity brought with it a measure of serenity. Edith would never understand all of Sybil's choices, but she came to admire the bravery it took to make them. More recently, she had learned to appreciate Tom's support in a house in which she'd never believed she'd had many allies.

Even before Edith told Sybil about the letter Edith wanted to write to the newspaper about women's suffrage, Edith had solicited Tom's advice on crafting it and on how to tell Sybil without making her feel like she was stealing Sybil's thunder. Sybil, of course, had been nothing but supportive of Edith—not to mention internally grateful that someone in her family had acknowledged that Tom had become a journalist in the time he'd been away from the house, and a good one at that.

"So did granny say she would speak to papa?" Sybil asked Edith as they pushed Sybbie's pram around the gardens. Edith had just returned from a visit to their grandmother, an effort to solicit her help in convincing Robert to accept her wish to take up Gregson's offer.

"More or less," Edith said with a sigh. "You know how she is. I told her she herself was pressing me not to be idle, and she clarified that she meant learning to paint or something."

Sybil let out a loud laugh. "Typical granny."

"I've half a mind to do that now, just so I can give her a rubbish painting in gratitude and guilt her into hanging it in her parlor. Only, I know she'd just give it to her butler for Christmas or his birthday."

"Well, whatever she says—whatever _papa_ says—I think you should do it. I'm sure Tom would be keen on helping you, even if it is a society paper."

"Does he have any leads for a job?"

"Other than with Kieran in Liverpool, no. He made a handful of inquiries with some northern papers, but nothing came of them."

"Because he's Irish?" Edith asked.

"Partly. It's also to do with the Home Office having his name as a potential rabble-rouser. But according to him, the worst of it is that he broke a cardinal rule of journalism."

"Oh, what's that?"

"A reporter is never supposed to become the news."

"Hmm. I'll have to remember that."

Sybil smiled. "So you're decided, then. Good."

"You're very kind to indulge me," Edith responded with her own smile.

"I'm _encouraging_ you. That's different. I will fight your corner and so will Tom."

"Where is he this afternoon?"

"With Matthew, I think. Matthew was going to try to talk to papa again about his plans for the estate. According to Mary, that hasn't been going terribly well. Tom's been offering support."

"Tom has an interest in running the estate?" Edith asked skeptically.

"Well, we have to know how it works if we're going to take it down from the inside," Sybil said blithely.

A horrified look came over Edith's face as she stopped dead on her tracks. "What?"

Sybil threw her head back laughing. "I'm joking!"

Edith narrowed her eyes as she walked to catch up with her sister. "If you say so. But honestly, with you two, one can never be sure."

* * *

"Edith thinks we're planning an uprising," Sybil told Tom later that evening as she dressed for dinner.

Tom, dressed except for his jacket, was walking around the room while holding Sybbie, trying to lull her to sleep after she'd enjoyed her own dinner in the arms of her mother. Tom had seemed distracted to Sybil all evening, but Sybil couldn't place why. She could only see that it was differed from the general dissatisfaction with life that had been wearing on him for the last few weeks, now that she was on her way to being well again and her health and survival were no longer the only things he could think about.

"Tom?"

"What?" He asked turning to face Sybil.

Sybil smiled. "I said Edith thinks we're plotting to bring down the estate."

Tom laughed a bit humorlessly and focused his attention back on Sybbie. "We could if we wanted to. We've got the will and the opportunity."

"What do you mean opportunity?"

Tom sighed and slowly lowered a now sleeping Sybbie into her bassinet. He walked over to the bed and sat down, his shoulders sinking as he did so. Concerned, Sybil walked over from where she'd been standing in front of her standing mirror and sat down next to him, taking his hand.

"Darling, what is it?" Sybil asked.

"Mr. Jarvis resigned this afternoon."

"What? Why?"

"He doesn't like Matthew's ideas for modernizing the running of the estate or consolidating the farming operations."

"That's a rather dramatic way of expressing disagreement," Sybil said, "but what does that have to do with you?"

Tom turned to look his wife in the eye with a small, sad smile.

Sybil's eyes widened in recognition. "Matthew wants _you_ to replace him?!"

Tom looked down to his hands again and nodded.

"Oh . . . my." Sybil bit her lip as the she considered the possibility that was now before them, but she could barely wrap her head around it. "I knew that he was confiding in you about his plans. It never occurred to me that he'd make you a part of them."

"I told him my grandparents were tenants back in Ireland. Then, he started asking me all these questions. It didn't occur to me that he was _interviewing_ me."

"I can only assume you said no."

Tom sighed. "He wouldn't take no for an answer—that is, he insisted that I take some time to think about it. It wouldn't be like before. Jarvis was little more than a rent collector. I'd certainly never agree to do _that_ , but . . . Matthew, he . . ." Tom sighed and scratched his head.

"He what?" Sybil prodded gently.

"The rents don't suffice to maintain the house. That's been true for ages, apparently. That's why your father ran through your mother's money so quickly. If things stay as they are, Matthew and Mary won't be married ten years before Miss Swire's money is gone too."

"Golly, it never occurred to me that papa would insist on continuing to live like this if it wasn't sustainable."

Tom shrugged. "How else would he live? He doesn't know another way and he feels entitled to the best of everything. It's practically in his blood."

Sybil smiled sadly. "I wouldn't say that."

Tom lifted his hand to her face and ran his thumb over her cheek. "Perhaps it skips a generation."

Sybil laughed. "Or one of every three children."

"Anyway, the only way for the land to pay for the upkeep of the house is to turn it into a profitable farming operation. The agent would be its manager. I'd oversee the purchase and maintenance the machinery, coordinate the growing and grazing, that sort of thing."

"What of the tenants?"

"The estate would work with them to get yields up, but Matthew couldn't bring them all forward with him. He wants more land to be working specifically for the house—all of it, in his ideal world, but that would be years on. It wouldn't be practical to take it all over now."

Sybil's brow furrowed. "But he couldn't just kick them out . . . could he?"

"I suggested he buy them out. Use the money he has now to offer them a comfortable retirement, some sort of compensation for having stewarded the estate for so long."

"And let me guess," Sybil said rolling her eyes, "that's the part of the plan papa objects to?"

Tom smirked. "In your father's mind, the land belongs to him. He respects the _tradition_ of tenancy, so he's reluctant to change that, but his concern for the people, while genuine, isn't rooted in the idea of shared ownership. Legally, he's right. It is his land. But you know well I view it differently. "

"And Matthew agrees with you?"

"I told him to think of it as an investment and a show of good faith for those who will remain. I know he wants to do right by Downton, and certainly it's not his wish to achieve that end at the expense of the people in the village."

Sybil looked into Tom's eyes for a long moment. "You seem further along in your thinking than I would've expected."

"I haven't made a decision yet. I am inclined to turn it down. Keeping your family rich isn't exactly my life's ambition."

Sybil bit her lip. "It wouldn't be like being the chauffeur," she said quietly. "You'd be working _with_ Matthew, not for him. I'm sure that's how he'd see it."

"Your grandmother wants nothing more than to call me _Branson_ again. Maybe if that's true she might let me go back to wearing an everyday suit at dinner."

Sybil couldn't help but snicker and Tom did too. She squeezed his hand. "Are you really considering it?"

"I don't know." Tom paused as if to collect his thoughts, then continued, "When I first started working here, I told myself that it would only be for a year, maybe two—just enough that I could move on to London or another city in which to seek work that would make me truly independent. I couldn't bear to prop up a system that was so harmful to so many, but I needed the work and it was all that was available to me at the time."

"Then you met me?" Sybil said quietly.

Tom put his hands over hers. "Then I met you."

"I don't want to think of myself as the reason your dreams were derailed—"

"You're not! I want to do work I am proud of, but Sybil, just being with you makes me proud too. Every day. Our marriage is an even bigger dream than I could have ever hoped for. And Sybbie is an affirmation of it. Now, I just want for _her_ to grow up to do what makes _her_ proud, whatever that is. And you as well. I'll do anything to give that to you both."

Sybil pulled him into a hug. "I want you to be happy too." Pulling away, she added, "I don't care for the frivolities of this life, you know that. But I don't dislike the idea of helping Mary and Matthew. And from the sound of it, if Matthew takes your counsel, you could be helping the tenants as well. A rising tide lifts all boats and all that."

Tom grinned. "Spoken like a true capitalist."

Sybil lifted her nose in the air in mock indignation. "There is certainly no need for name-calling!"

Tom laughed and grabbed her hand, pulling her playfully onto his lap. "What about you?"

"Me?"

"I seem to remember not too long ago, a young aristocratic girl so eager to leave all this behind she married the bloody chauffeur."

Sybil smiled softly, and Tom swore he saw, for flicker of a second, the brightness of that young girl's eyes and the memory of that night— _you're my ticket_ —flash before both of their eyes.

"You know what happens to the best laid plans," Sybil said finally.

"What happens?"

"Life. Life is what happens."

Sybil stood and pulled him over to the bassinet where their daughter lay sleeping. "I wouldn't trade ours for anything."

Tom held Sybil's face in his hands and gave her a long deep kiss.

She smiled as they pulled away. "We should go down."

With a sigh, Tom let go of Sybil and went over to the armchair on which he'd left his tuxedo jacket while he was putting Sybbie to sleep. Once it was on, he turned to Sybil and snickered as she stepped into her slippers.

"I know I need to buy myself some new dress shoes, but who wants to bother when it's so amusing to watch Carson look so horrified whenever he catches a glimpse of these."

Tom laughed quietly. "You really wouldn't mind staying here?"

Sybil walked over to her bell and pulled on the cord, so Mrs. Hughes could send up one of the maids to sit with Sybbie while her parents were in the dining room—the compromise that Sybil and her mother settled on with regard to Sybbie's care, with Mrs. Hughes' support.

"I don't want to, not forever, but I must admit, it's been nice being close to Mary and Edith again—Edith, in particular. She feels so alone here. We went back to Dublin so quickly after what happened with Sir Anthony, I didn't take the time to think of how much lonelier it would be for her. I know what it's like to feel trapped in this house."

"Add heartbreak to that," Tom said. "I imagine it's nigh unbearable."

"I don't want to abandon her, at least not until she's found something to do that will lift her spirits and give her focus."

"I suppose if I can't be a journalist, I might as well support someone who can. Even if it is The Sketch. And I can live anywhere so long as I get to keep you."

Sybil smiled and walked back over to him for another kiss. "Let's take Matthew's advice and wait. When Kieran comes, we'll talk about Liverpool and then we'll make our decision. How does that sound, Mr. Branson?"

"I always follow where you lead, Mrs. Branson."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> know that Tom's motivations and characterization is a bit all over the place in this and the previous chapter, but in trying to rationalize why he'd stay at Downton, I am forcing him into a bit of a crisis of confidence that doesn't truly come to a head until events in series 4. He's basically feeling pulled in all directions amid the wave of self-doubt that began to surface when he was forced to flee Ireland. We'll be seeing bits and pieces of that in this and future chapters.

 

"Why are you so nervous?" Sybil asked as she sat in the armchair of her room nursing Sybbie and watching her husband fidgeting as he paced from one end of the room to the other. "It's only Kieran. You're acting as if the King and Queen of England are coming for the christening."

"Maybe we shouldn't have invited him here," Tom blurted out.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Tom, don't be ridiculous!"

Tom walked over to the bed, sat down and put his head in his hands. "I mean, maybe we should have arranged for the christening in Liverpool. That way we'd have been out of sight and out of mind as we would have been in Dublin, and your parents would have less reason to complain to you about me or drop hints here and there that we're not doing right by Sybbie."

Sybil smirked. "As if you honestly care about what they think."

Tom looked up at Sybil. "I don't care what they think of me, but I don't want them to continue to take their dislike of my religion out on you, and certainly not on Sybbie."

"I know that my father is not always the easiest person in the world to handle, but despite his attitude about our marriage, he does genuinely love his granddaughter. Papa's thinking regarding a Catholic upbringing is backward—that's obvious. But his concern comes from a place of love. We can embrace that and ignore the rest."

Tom laughed humorlessly. "Dearest, granddaughter," he said putting on an English accent, "I love you as any grandfather would, and it's because of that love that I don't want you to be anything like your father."

Sybil couldn't help but laugh. "Would you believe that granny said something very akin to that to Mary, Edith and myself about mama and her _ghastly_ American ways."

Tom smiled. "So it's all just family tradition, then?"

"Yes, and you know how strongly papa likes to hold on to tradition."

Tom sighed and thought for a moment. Sybil watched the various emotions obviously warring within him. Tom enjoyed lively debate as much as the next person, but it was not in Tom's nature to pick a fight with anyone, not merely for the sake of fighting, even with her father. And yet his instincts drove him to stand up and speak for what was right, which more or less meant fighting with Robert on a daily basis. Even with Matthew's support, having to justify himself at every turn was exhausting him, especially when he wasn't working to support his family in the way he wanted. Sybil thought that extending an invitation to Kieran to visit for a few days might put him at ease, but apparently it had only increased his burden.

Kieran had supported them steadfastly, supported _her_ , in her early days in Dublin when so many other Branson relatives and friends were skeptical, even if benignly so, about whether their love would survive the tests it would face and whether Sybil in particular was strong enough to weather them while also getting used to living in circumstances much reduced from what she had been used to growing up. Still, Kieran was every bit the stubborn Branson his brother was and one much more set in his ways. He admired Sybil's rejection of her family's riches and lifestyle. But it was one thing to have his support in Dublin, and quite another altogether to ask him to tread the delicate terrain of Downton on her family's terms.

She'd wanted him to come for Tom to have a taste of the home he dearly missed, but she also wanted to believe that her families were not so far apart that they couldn't ever be in each other's presence and share a meal together. More than anything, Sybil wanted the milestones in her daughter's life to be marked by the love she felt from both sides of her family tree, not as occasions to be reminded of how incongruous or incompatible or unwilling to put aside difference those sides were.

"Will you come over here please?" Sybil asked Tom quietly.

Tom stood from the bed and kneeled in front of the arm chair and watched Sybbie nurse, the image of his beautiful bundle of joy taking her nourishment from the woman who'd given her life—the woman who had, in a different way, given _him_ life—eased his weary heart.

Sybil ran her fingers through his hair and watched him watch Sybbie. "Every thing is going to be all right. Kieran gets on well with everyone."

Tom rolled his eyes. "He gets along well with people he likes, and you know well he's not inclined to like anyone in this house, certainly not above stairs."

"And _you_ know well that he was the first in your family to to be happy for us, so perhaps you're not giving him enough credit."

Tom kissed Sybil's hand. "And you do not give yourself enough credit because _that_ , my darling, was all due to your social graces and nothing to do with those of my ornery brother."

"My social graces or my ability to handle my whiskey?"

Tom laughed. "Both."

"Doesn't he like to say, 'Give me a good bottle and I'm at home anywhere'?" Sybil said, trying to match Kieran's brogue, much thicker than Tom's. "God knows papa is more welcoming when he has a cognac in his hand."

"Not _that_ welcoming, and he has no problem feeling at home anywhere because there's rarely a place he goes in this county that isn't actually his."

Sybil smirked. "Well, I doubt it'll take much for Kieran to feel at home and do just as he pleases here as well as he did in Dublin."

Tom rubbed his forehead. "That's a bit what I'm afraid of."

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Tom stood to open it and Sybil took a nursing cloth and draped it over herself and Sybbie. Seeing that Sybil was ready, Tom opened the door to see Alfred on the other side.

"Hello, sir, I apologize for the intrusion, but Mr. Branson is here," he said.

Tom's eyes went wide. "Already! He said he was coming on the evening train."

Sybil laughed. "Thank you, Alfred. We'll be down to the entrance hall in a moment."

Alfred shifted on his feet. "Actually, he's in the servants quarters. I told him he could come up, when he came in through the service door, but he refused. Not that he's been rude or anything. In fact, he's giving everyone a bit of a laugh."

"That's Kieran," Sybil said, unable to stop herself from smiling, imagining the scene he might be making downstairs and the redness of Carson's complexion in the face of it.

Tom, on the other hand, dropped his head back in exasperation, making both Alfred and Sybil laugh. "Dear God, why does he like making things difficult." With a sigh he turned to Sybil, "Take your time finishing with her. I'll go get him sorted out."

As Tom followed Alfred down the hall, they passed Mary.

"Where are you off to?" She asked Tom.

"My brother's downstairs," Tom said.

"I thought he wasn't getting here until tonight," Mary said.

"So did we."

"Is Sybil with the baby?"

Tom nodded.

"I'll come with you, then," Mary said. "He should have a family welcome."

Tom wanted to say that wasn't a good idea, but he also knew that Mary wouldn't take no for an answer. She'd fought Sybil on the idea of marrying Tom without apology to him, but once Sybil made it clear she'd not be changing her mind, Mary became determined in equal measure to embrace her brother-in-law in every possible way (not entirely unlike Kieran himself had done with Sybil, whom he embraced as his new sister only after it was clear that his brother wouldn't be talked out of marrying her).

They walked down the stairs to the servants hall silently, and Tom's annoyance grew as the sounds of laughter and then the voice a clearly rankled Carson could be heard even before they'd walked into the room. At the bottom of the stairs, as he came around Mary, Tom saw immediately all eyes fall on him. There was Carson's consistently judgmental stare, Thomas' usual mixture of disinterest and disdain and, perhaps worst of all, Mrs. Hughes, Bates and Anna, all of them his good friends and yet none able to disguise their looks of second-hand embarrassment.

The annoyance he felt at his brother welled up in his chest and began to turn into anger. "Kieran," he said sternly, trying to keep his voice in check. "What are you doing down here? Come upstairs."

Kieran looked his brother up and down, dressed in a fancy suit he'd likely have been ashamed to wear in Dublin and seemingly ill at ease in a room that not too long ago had been his domain and among those he used to call his friends. A resolute bachelor, Kieran had been touched by Tom and Sybil's ovation. He was genuinely thrilled about being godfather to his little niece, but wished he could do so without having to acknowledge the Crawleys as an ongoing presence (and from what he could already see, too heavy an influence) in his brother's life.

He considered Sybil a lovely and thoughtful girl, but quite obviously a rare breed among her ilk. It was rather petty to come in to Downton as he had, by way of the service entrance, but after he received the invitation from Lady Grantham to come stay at the house "for as long as he liked"—as if a working man like himself had all the time in the world—he felt inclined to remind them what class of person he was. He figured, moreover, that the Crawleys likely wished they'd not have to acknowledge him as a relation, so why not make it easy for them by making himself at home among their staff?

Kieran looked around at the audience that he'd amassed, all cowed by the high and mighty butler. With a shrug, he said, "I don't fancy it. Can I not stay put? Have me dinner down here?"

Tom opened his mouth to answer, but Mary spoke first "But we're all so looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Branson," she said quietly. Tom noticed a quiver in her voice that he'd never heard before, as if Mary—Lady Mary Crawley, of all people—was nervous about the impression she was making on a member of his family and nervous as to whether or not it was a favorable one. Tom was taken by her sincerity, and, in spite of himself, endeared.

"If you come with us," Mary continued, "you can see your room and get changed"—she paused for a fraction of a second before remembering Sybil's words about not imposing such a ritual on Kieran and quickly and meekly added, "If you want to."

But Kieran couldn't help but take the bait. "And what would I change into?" He asked, setting the room to giggles again. "A pumpkin?"

Tom's jaw tightened. He couldn't blame his brother for not knowing Mary well enough to recognize an earnest attempt on her part to make him feel welcome, but he could find fault in Kieran's failure to heed their mother's lessons about respect, giving others the benefit of the doubt and keeping the cheek to a minimum, all of which would have been well applied here too—not that Kieran had ever learned those lessons particularly well.

Kieran remembered them now as he stared into his younger brother's chastising look, more like their mother's cutting glare than even Tommy himself would believe, if he'd been able to look in a mirror just then.

"Oh, come on, Tommy," Kieran finally said. "Can't we eat down here? They seem like a nice lot. What's the matter? Are you too grand for them now?"

Voicing more certainty than he felt about where he stood with the staff, Tom said, "They know that I'm not, but my mother-in-law has been kind enough to invite you to stay and dine, and I'll not let you snub her. Now, get a move on."

With a weary roll if his eyes, Kieran pushed himself up and moved around the table to follow Mary and Tom back up the stairs, patting Moseley on the shoulder as he passed, a gesture the stiff valet (a wet sandwich if Kieran ever saw one) didn't exactly appreciate.

They'd just reached the top of the stairs when they met Sybil, who'd left Sybbie with Edith to greet her brother-in-law. "Kieran! It's so lovely to see you again! And with so much for us all to celebrate."

Kieran leaned down to kiss Sybil and offered the first genuine smile since he'd stepped on the premises. "Well, I don't know about myself but you certainly do. How is the little darling?"

"Looking forward to meeting her uncle," Sybil said warmly. After stepping away from Kieran's embrace she noticed the continued tension in Tom's shoulders and Mary's tight-lipped smile, but sure that dwelling on what had obviously been an awkward scene downstairs would just make things worse, Sybil took Kieran by the arm. "There'll be time for a tour later, though I doubt there's much of interest to you here in the gloomy old house, so how about we go meet Sybbie?"

"How'd he talk you into that one, anyway?" Kieran asked.

Sybil looked over her shoulder to where Tom remained standing and smiled. "He likes to have his way, doesn't he?"

"Hmph! You don't have to tell me twice."

As Tom and Mary watched Kieran and Sybil walk blithely away, Mary snickered.

"How does she do it?" Mary said, as if asking the universe that question, and not the man standing beside her.

Tom rubbed his face with his hands, unable to stop himself from smiling, the tension he'd been feeling in the last few minutes all but gone. "Honestly, Mary, I don't want to know."

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the remainder of Kieran's visit and the christening of Sybbie. I include the dinner scene we saw on the show, and while I borrow and adapt some dialogue from it, the tenor of the conversion is, with good reason (Sybil lives!), very different from what we saw on the show. The Bransons also finally come to a decision about where to settle. Even though their instincts may pull them away from Downton, I've tried to make their choice to stay temporarily as realistic as possible. Of course, circumstance will keep them there longer than they anticipate at this point in their story, but they don't know that yet.

After an hour of quality time with his niece, brother and sister-in-law, Kieran, along with the rest of the Bransons at Downton Abbey, was in high spirits, though a bit worn from his journey. Resting in the middle of the day was the rarest of luxuries, but he didn't mind taking advantage of it while he had the chance. It was Tom who woke him—the large bed in Kieran's room was of such comfort, he might have slept through the christening. Tom did so to walk with him down to the drawing room before dinner and prepare him for the sequence of the evening, while Sybil finished feeding Sybbie.

Of course when a slightly disheveled Kieran opened the door to see a polished, tuxedoed Tom on the other side, Kieran couldn't contain his laughter. "So what have you done with my brother, then?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "Do you think I like dressing this?" he asked, annoyed.

Kieran walked back into the room, and Tom followed, closing the door behind him. "I reckon you do, actually," Kieran said.

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't have a choice."

Kieran went over to the armchair where he'd left his tie and began to tie it back on. "We always have choices, brother. They may not always be good choices, and certainly there are worse ones to make than wanting to appease your wife's posh family, but we _always_ have choices."

"Well, getting caught in Ireland wasn't a choice," Tom replied, "and if I could go back this very minute I would— _we_ would. Sybil is among loved ones here, but she isn't eager to stay and have to adhere to the ridiculous code of dress anymore than I am."

Kieran finished adjusting his tie and looked Tom square in the eyes. "Then why are you staying? Why not leave with me? The garage is ready to go. I've already got more business lined up than I can handle on my own."

Tom ran his fingers through his hair and turned away without responding.

"Well?" Kieran pushed.

"I don't know!"

Kieran rolled his eyes. "Oh, come _on_ , Tommy. If you like living in the lap of luxury, just say it! Don't pretend that you're actually struggling to make a decision, when the socialist in you would have left this place the day you arrived."

Tom turned around abruptly. "And what would have happened to Sybil?!" he responded angrily. "She nearly _died_ giving birth—and that's not an exaggeration! They literally had to cut the baby out of her. She's alive because her childhood doctor and a woman who is like a second mother to her knew what to do! What would have happened if we'd left? I don't know! And that scares the bloody piss out of me!"

Kieran, not unsympathetic, looked down not knowing what to say.

Tom sighed. "When I say, 'I don't know,' I mean it, Kieran. And not just about where to go, it's _everything_. I barely know whether I'm coming or going most days. In Dublin, I had a _perfect_ life, everything that I always dreamed of. A wife I love more than life itself and a baby coming, a flat in a the kind of neighborhood we'd always dreamed of living in, we both had jobs we loved, I was working for the cause—and that happiness was taken from me by men I trusted who threw me to the wolves to save themselves because of Sybil's bloody accent and birth somehow rendered me less than loyal in their eyes."

"More like they thought she'd save you from the firing squad," Kieran said quietly.

"What?"

"I know what you lost, Tommy, but if those boys hadn't turned you in, the consequences might have been worse for them. I'm not saying what they did was right, just . . ." Kieran shrugged, as if at a loss. Then, after a moment, he added, "It's like I said, we all have choices."

"Is that why you choose to keep yourself out of the fight?"

"I want a free Ireland as much as the next man, but surviving is hard enough," Kieran said with a weary sigh that suggested he'd seen plenty of the fight. "Survival is hard enough, so I leave the war to those who are stronger and the politics to those who are more clever. You are both strong and more clever than I am, and even you didn't come out unscathed, but you came out with your life. Think of the ones we love who haven't and be grateful banishment was the worst of it."

Tom smiled, duly chastened. "Fair enough."

Kieran smiled back and slipped on his jacket. "So is the food as good as your waistband suggests?"

"What?!" Tom felt himself around the cummerbund, which caused Kieran to laugh.

Kieran walked to the door and opened it again so they could head down. Before stepping through it, Tom stopped in front of his brother and said, "Sybil and me—we don't belong here—or there, really. We don't belong anywhere except with one another, and if she wants to be here for her sisters when they need her, then I will be too. Even if I'd rather we settle somewhere else. Even if it means I get lip from you and everyone else back home."

Kieran smiled. "All right, then. But the invitation will always be there."

"I know, and it means a lot that you'd offer."

Kieran nodded his head and motioned for them to go. "Is the whiskey good, at least?" he asked.

"Sadly, not as good as you'd think."

* * *

"So, Tom tells us you have a job for him in Liverpool?" Matthew asked Kieran after the family had sat down to dinner.

Mary smiled and said, "You'll have to forgive my husband, Mr. Branson—well, all of us, really. Now that they're back, we don't want to see Sybil and Tom leave again."

"It's all right, milady," Kieran said good-naturedly. "The job is doing automobile refurbishment."

"He means car repairs," Tom added.

Sybil looked at Tom pointedly, across the table, "We all know what he means, darling. We're not totally helpless when it comes to working class trades."

"Actually, I appreciate the translation," Violet said. "These terms seem to change on a daily basis. I can barely keep up. The motor stalled when Pratt picked me up last week, and he said he'd have a look under the bonnet. I thought that was a funny way of referring to his hat."

Kieran laughed out loud, but realizing that he was the only one, he cleared his throat to cover it up, which caused both Sybil and Tom to smile.

"Would you all live nearby?" Robert asked, looking between Tom and Kieran.

"We've rooms over the garage," Keiran said. "And there's a park not too far away."

"Well, that's something," Mary said, looking at Sybil.

"And likely temporary, in any case," Sybil said. " _If_ we decide to go, we'll obviously find a place that suits us once we've had time to settle in and get a lay of the land. It would be nice if I could be close to my job as well."

"You mean you plan on working again—even with Sybbie?" Robert asked, aghast and turning to look at Sybil, who was seated next to him.

"Why shouldn't I?" Sybil responded, nonchalantly ignoring her father's implied reprimand. "Obviously, we'd have to find proper care for Sybbie, but if we do, there's no reason for me not to work. I love nursing."

"You should have considered that before you had a child," Robert said.

"What's wrong with doing or wanting both? Just because _you_ don't work—"

"So!" Mary interjected, eager to move the subject to safer waters. "Who's coming to the christening?"

"All of us, I expect," Cora said quickly, hoping, like Mary, to squelch another disagreement between Robert and his youngest daughter.

"Oh, yes," Violet agreed. "If Branson— _Tom_ wants me to."

Tom smiled. "I would be honored."

"Does his opinion on the question matter more than mine," Sybil teased. "Because I'd like for you to come as well."

Violet smiled. "Well, I was only thinking that since it's _his_ church . . ."

"And Sybbie's and mine too," Sybil said. "So we all hope you come."

At the "mine," Robert rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything, he caught Cora staring him down, silently asking that he let the religious question go. The issue, however, would not rest there.

"Robert, are you coming?" Matthew asked, gingerly.

Robert sighed. "I don't know that Tom and Sybil want me there."

"How can you say that, papa?" Sybil replied. "Of course, we do."

"And anyway," Robert continued, "I wouldn't know what to do. All that crossing and bobbing up and down. I went to a mass once in Rome. It was more like a gymnastic display."

Once again, Kieran laughed, but this time he couldn't rein it in.

Tom scratched his forehead, amused at his brother's antics, and said, "Even born and bred Catholics are guilty of find it all rather tiresome."

Sybil smiled, then looked back at her father. "I would like you to be there, very much."

"Why? What difference would it make?" Robert asked. Looking at Sybil and the way her face fell as he said the words, Robert suddenly wished he hadn't said them. The fact was he loved his granddaughter dearly, but wishing that her parents were not so . . . _like they were_ was not something that went away easily, not in one so set in his ways as Robert Crawley.

Sybil reached for her father's hand and squeezed it. "I want you there. Sybbie's your granddaughter, and though she may not be able to express it verbally just yet, I know she loves you and wants you there as well."

"Will you argue with that?" Cora asked with a smirk.

Robert looked around the table at his family, all of them smiling expectantly at him, even the Irishmen. It wasn't like the way he'd have expected the christening of his first grandchild to have turned out, but really, when he looked deep down and felt the love so thick in the room, it wasn't so terribly unlike it either.

"If you think it's so important," he finally said, looking back at Sybil.

She smiled. "I do."

The mood of the room lightened considerably, and for a few minutes everyone ate in contented silence.

Seeing an opportunity to share her own news, Edith spoke up. She'd traveled to London that day to meet with the editor of The Sketch who was so keen to bring her on, Michael Gregson. Despite Robert's objections, she'd finally said yes.

"I've got an announcement to make," she said, "and now's as good a time as any. Listen, everyone. You have a journalist in the family."

Tom and Sybil both beamed at her, and when Edith's eyes met Tom's she added, meekly, "Well, a second one."

"I don't think I count anymore," Tom said. "So, it's good that you're making up for it."

Edith looked to her parents and grandmother, knowing their approval was less likely, but Violet surprised her.

"Since we have a country solicitor," she said, "and car mechanic, it was only a matter of time."

"How was the editor?" Mary asked.

"He was nice . . . very nice."

Mary heard something in Edith's tone and raised her eyebrows in response. Sybil caught her eyes and tilted her head as if to say, _why not_.

"Well, I for one look forward to every article," Sybil said, raising her glass. "And I propose a toast to your future success."

Edith looked down, a slight blush of embarrassment coming over her cheeks, but Sybil could tell that Edith was—for the first time since Sybil had been back—happy for herself.

* * *

On Sunday, August 22, 1920, Miss Sybil Keelin Branson was baptized into the her father's faith at St. Wilfred's Catholic Church in Ripon. After the event, her godfather invited the whole family to luncheon, as is tradition, back in Downton village at the Grantham Arms. All of them, even Sybbie's grandfather and great-grandmother, were in attendance.

The following day, after seeing Kieran off, Sybil and Tom came back to the house and pulled Matthew and Mary aside to tell them that they would stay for now, but not forever. Tom further agreed to help Matthew learn the run of the estate for one year.

Matthew was so happy that he pulled Tom into a bear hug. Sybil laughed. Mary looked at him as if he'd been possessed, but when she exchanged glances with Sybil, Sybil saw in Mary's eyes, that she was as pleased as Matthew was and might have even showed how happy she was to the degree Matthew had done, if Mary were the type of person to show any emotion at all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're picking up on the Sybil-lives rewrite of S3 with Mary's infertility storyline. Though the outcome is the same as was on the show (whatever was wrong with Mary is fixed), how we get there is made different by Sybil's presence and how she affects the situation. 

 

**September 1920**

It took a few days after Sybbie's christening, but Tom and Sybil eventually made peace with their decision to stay at Downton for the time being and in the weeks that followed settled into a comfortable routine. Working as the estate agent, Tom was up and out of the house early in the morning, leaving Sybil to spend her day with Sybbie, who, despite her difficult and dramatic entry into the world, proved to be a model baby. Though she did not yet sleep through the night, she kept the nighttime wailing to a minimum, making it easier for her father, a heavy sleeper to begin with, to sleep through the midnight feedings, which Sybil let him do since he was working again. Sybbie's frequent naps throughout the day made it easy for Sybil to catch up on her own sleep and to adjust to being Sybbie's primary caregiver now that Tom was gone for most of the day. Upon his return to the house in the mid-afternoon, he'd take his tea in the nursery and Sybil would make herself scarce so that father and daughter had plenty of quality bonding time together. The hours after dinner before exhaustion overtook them both was all they had to themselves, but for now it was enough to offer one another comfort as well as remind each other that however imperfect, their life was _theirs_ and no one else's.

The salary that Matthew offered Tom was a generous one. So much so that Tom wondered whether it was more than Jarvis had been paid. Tom never asked, of course, but it was, because just as Matthew considered the compensation given to those who gave up their plots as an investment in the estate, so too was ensuring that Tom would stay for as long as he was willing. It proved a wise investment. The tenants quickly took to their new agent, who presented himself as their collaborator and advocate. That he had once been a servant was reassuring to those who remembered Jarvis' callous nature and unwillingness to acknowledge their toil. Tom knew what honest work was, and he went to great lengths to prove that even though he'd married into the family, he would not abandon in thought or act his working class roots. Robert couldn't help but be skeptical as to how well Tom would do in the position, but seeing how much smoother the transition became once Tom had taken the job, Matthew knew he'd done well to offer it, and to pay him what he was due.

Not that Matthew left all the work for Tom to do. Matthew approached the running of estate more conscientiously than many of the Crawley men who had come before him. Having found a suitable partner for this new venture, he took some time off from his work in Ripon as a solicitor to get the estate running to his satisfaction. He and Tom had their breakfast and were out the door before anyone else in the family was out of bed (save Sybil and Sybbie, of course, who was usually up and happily latched on to her mother's breast when it was time for Tom to go). The time the two young men spent together strengthened their bond as brothers-in-law, partners and friends. In one moment early on, in talking about the future of the estate with Tom, Matthew gave voice to his grander thoughts on the Downton legacy and what would be preserved for future generations and included Sybbie with his own future children among those for whom his and Tom's work was being done.

Downton was not the future that Tom or Sybil envisioned for their daughter, but even so Tom could appreciate the affirmation that she would not grow up with one half of her family holding her at arm's length. When he shared this with Sybil, she was equally touched, but she couldn't help but wonder whether Matthew was as worried as Mary about why a child had not come yet. Sybil hoped that if he was, that he and Mary were talking and comforting one another, and not suffering the pressure to produce an heir individually and in silence. She wanted to broach the topic with Mary again, to offer her support and reassurance, but she wasn't sure how to do so in such way that wouldn't simply be another reminder to Mary of what Mary didn't have and Sybil did.

As it happened, in early September, Mary's own body offered a reminder, letting her know that a baby wouldn't be coming for another month. Upon realizing this, she went for a long walk to work out her frustrations. She ended up sitting down on a bench just beyond the gardens, and believing herself to be alone, she allowed one tear to escape, then another, and then more than she could hold back. Mary hated nothing more than wallowing in melancholy, so the tears did little more than irritate her further. She might have stayed hidden away on that bench all day until she was suitably composed had Sybil, out with Sybbie in the pram, not found her there in the thick of her tears.

Immediately, Mary felt foolish and tried very quickly to wipe her tears away, but Sybil offered a gentle smile and her handkerchief.

"Before I married, I never gave motherhood a second thought," Mary said without preamble, as Sybil sat next to her after checking that Sybbie was still asleep in the pram. "Even before Matthew, I looked forward to getting married, having the run of my own house . . . but I never really thought of myself as a mother. I didn't doubt that I would be one. It just wasn't something I spent much time thinking about."

"And now?" Sybil prodded gently.

"And now I wish it didn't matter to me so much. I don't know when it happened exactly—whether it was the day we married or when Matthew took the reigns with the estate or when you came back and I saw how lovely impending motherhood looked on you. But I can't think of anything else. I want it for Matthew and papa, and for myself as well. It never occurred to me that it might not be possible."

"Mary, you don't know that it isn't."

"No, but I do know that it should have happened by now."

"Mary—"

"Please, Sybil. I know you mean well in reassuring me, but I just . . . there's something wrong, I _know_ there is."

"Well, then, maybe it can be fixed," Sybil added, trying to offer some encouragement.

Mary looked over at her sister puzzled. "How?"

Sybil smiled. "At the risk of making you blush, I can only imagine that you're sure it should have happened by now because you and Matthew are . . . um, doing what you need to do often enough?"

Mary rolled her eyes, but Sybil could see a smile turning the corners of her lips up. "Believe or not, Sybil, I do know how it all works."

"Well, then, if your body is not responding and there _is_ something wrong, the only way to know for sure what should be done is to see a doctor."

"Sybil, I can hardly go to Dr. Clarkson with this."

"Why not?"

"For starters, Matthew already asked Sir Philip Tapsell about it, and he said to stop being so anxious."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Please don't tell me you're going to let that moronic quack be the last word on the matter!"

"I know that he erred with you, Sybil, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't know what he's talking about."

"How could he possibly tell Matthew anything with any authority given that he doesn't know you and certainly never examined you?"

Mary stood from the bench and took several steps away. "I don't want to be prodded and poked, and I certainly won't be made the subject of gossip."

"Mary, Dr. Clarkson is a good man whom you've known all your life. Do you honestly believe he would betray such a confidence?"

"I just—"

Sybil stood and moved to stand behind her sister. "What, darling?"

Mary sighed. "I think there's something wrong with me, but . . . I don't want to be told there's no hope." Mary turned to look Sybil in the face, and Sybil took a breath as she watched a small tear roll down her sister's cheek. "I'm afraid that I'm right, and that nothing can be done."

Sybil took Mary's hands. "You can't live under this cloud of doubt all your life—it'll consume you."

Mary nodded slightly, but looked away. "It can't be Dr. Clarkson, Sybil. If I am to hear the worst news, then I must hear it on my own terms, and I couldn't bear people in this village knowing something about me that I'd just as soon not tell my own father."

"Will you tell Matthew at least?"

Mary sighed, but didn't answer.

"Mary, you can't bear this burden alone," Sybil said. "He wouldn't want you to. If he went to Sir Philip and mentioned as much to you, then obviously he wants to be there for you."

"I thought the possibility of losing Downton would be the toughest test we'd face."

"It might still be," Sybil said quietly. "But you won't know until you face this—and how much easier will it be to do so together?"

"Will you come? If we find a doctor in London or somewhere, will you come too?"

Sybil pulled Mary into a tight hug. "Why else do you think I stayed?"

That night, Mary confessed just how deeply she feared the possibility that they might not have children. Matthew welcomed the confession because it was a fear he held too, and with everything out in the open between them, husband and wife clung to one another grateful that whatever would come, they did not have to face it alone, and that even without children, their marriage would never lack for love.

The following morning Matthew made a call to a specialist in Manchester who had worked with his father. An appointment was made. Under the ruse that estate business was the reason for the trip to Matthew and Isobel's former home, Tom and Sybil came along. Sybbie was left behind in the care of her aunt and grandmother (and a temporary nurse), so that her parents could enjoy a few nights to themselves. Upon the foursome's return, Robert was deep in the throes of planning for upcoming the annual cricket match, so he could perhaps be forgiven for not noticing that his eldest daughter seemed a fraction more fragile than normal. But it didn't last long. Mary's spirits brightened and color returned to her cheeks in a matter of days, as if a tiny valve in her heart that had been momentarily loosened was tight again and could now hold in the hope that before had begun to drip slowly and painfully out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We left off with Sybil helping Mary overcome her fears and getting her fertility issues addressed, which was basically the end of episode 3x07. With 3x08 we have the cricket match and Rose's appearance. But before we get to the match itself and Rose, I am finally including the luncheon at Isobel's that Robert interrupts. As I mentioned before, I wanted to move the luncheon to later so that it better fit the circumstances as I've changed them with Sybil still being alive. 

 

"Considering what a fuss she made coming into the world, she's a very sweet, accommodating baby," Isobel said, holding Sybbie in her arms.

Sybil had brought her to Crawley House for a tea time visit. Sybbie had slept through most of the walk to the village, so now she was awake and happily gurgling.

"She is," Sybil said smiling proudly. "She does very well at night, which helps Tom sleep. She does have her crying fits now and again, but I can't help but think that she's spoiling us and that the next will be much more demanding."

Isobel looked over at Sybil. "So you are planning on having more?"

Sybil nodded. "I've spoken to Dr. Clarkson about it and read some material on birth after a cesarean, and there are complications, of course, but that's true with any delivery."

Isobel smiled. "Well, I'm glad you're not being ruled by fear. There are advancements in medicine everyday. There could be a whole new way of delivering for you in just a matter of a year or two."

"Which is probably how long we will wait until the next," Sybil replied. "We don't plan on staying at Downton more than a year, so we'd like to be well settled wherever we end up before we consider adding to our family."

"You're making very smart plans," Isobel said. She looked down at the baby again for a moment, then back at Sybil, likely already knowing the answer to the question she was about to ask but deciding she wanted to ask it anyway. "I assume you know what needs to be done to prevent falling pregnant before you'd like?"

Sybil smiled. "I do, but thank you for asking."

Isobel only smiled and looked back down to Sybbie, so she missed Sybil watching her a moment and biting her lip as if she too were hesitating about asking her own question, one she did not know the answer to.

"Isobel," she began tentatively. "I know you worked with your husband, as a nurse in his practice."

"I did."

"I wonder, did you do it while Matthew was a child?"

"You're asking me how long after he was born I went back to work?"

Sybil smiled and nodded. "I long to go back to nursing, and I know that Dr. Clarkson would give me a position if and when one became available—or I could just volunteer, but I want to know that I won't be harming her with my absence." Sybil paused and looked down at her hands. "So much of my life I've done things just because I wanted to prove that I could, and I know that's what my parents will accuse me of when I tell them, but I truly don't want to short-change Sybbie in any way. I don't want to make the choice if it's a selfish one. I ask you because I know you will will answer it honestly and without prejudice."

"Well, I was back working after Matthew was one, but . . ."

"But what?"

Isobel smiled "I had help."

"You mean you had a nanny?"

"Yes. I know that's a route you hope not to take, but no parent, male or female, can do all that he or she must do without some help. It doesn't have to be hired help, but the phrase 'it takes a village' comes to mind. Even if you and Tom could manage to care for her between the two of you, you'd have little time to yourselves and you'll find the longer you are a parent that nurturing your relationship is as important for the well-being of your children as anything else."

Sybil sighed, and thought for a long moment about what Isobel had said.

"There's nothing wrong with needing help, Sybil. It will do good for Sybbie to have others around her, other people and family from whom she can learn."

"So you don't think that wanting to work makes me a terrible mother?"

Isobel laughed. "Certainly, not—unless you think I am for doing the same."

"I could never think that. Matthew's a testament to how well you did. We would be lucky if Sybbie were so good a person as he."

"The thing that matters the most in motherhood is happiness, a happy home breeds happy children. If work would make you happy, then it's important for Sybbie that you do it. She will learn from your good example and perhaps have ambition for a career herself."

Sybil beamed. "I'd love nothing more."

"So will it be a nanny?"

"I know that it would be easy enough at the house, to ask papa to pay for one, but I'd like not to have to rely on a luxury that Tom and I may not be able to afford on our own. Tom has mentioned bringing one of his young cousins from Ireland, and Mrs Hughes has been very generous with Lily's time. She's a housemaid and enjoys watching Sybbie while we're at dinner. I think we'll consider our options before we decide."

"Well, if Sybbie is as sweet normally as she is today, then you can count on me for an afternoon a week."

"Do you mean it?"

"Of course. I should practice for when Matthew and Mary have children of their own—no doubt they'll have an army of minders, but there's no reason I can't have some practice changing nappies."

"Oh, Isobel, thank you so much."

Isobel smiled. "Of course, dear. Now about you and the girls coming for luncheon tomorrow."

"We're all coming. It'll be nice to be out all together for a change. Besides, papa has turned every meal into a strategy session for cricket in the last week. I'll be happy to have a reprieve."

"Is Tom looking forward to participating?"

Sybil laughed. "Not at all. He doesn't know the game and is only even considering it because the house couldn't field a team without him."

A moment later, Ethel came in with a tray of tea. Sybil took Sybbie from Isobel's arms and laid her back down in her pram, which she had pulled into the parlor. Sybil noticed right away a shadow come over Ethel's eyes when she saw the baby, no doubt thinking of her own, now living far from her in his grandparents' home.

"Thank you, Ethel," Sybil said quietly, after she'd sat back down.

Ethel smiled, though Sybil could see it did not reach her eyes. Isobel had explained Ethel's situation to Sybil, and Sybil, though she'd not been close to Ethel when she'd worked at Downton, wanted to offer her support.

"Is your son well in his new home?" Sybil asked her.

The question surprised Ethel, who didn't know Sybil or anyone of the Crawley family knew the particulars of her situation.

"I don't mean to intrude," Sybil said quickly, seeing her reaction.

"It's all right, milady, I . . . he's fine. His grandmother writes me with news."

"That's kind of her," Sybil said.

"It is kind," Isobel said, "not many would withold judgment so considerately as she has."

"I do wish I could see him more often," Ethel said. "But I know he's doing well and that's enough."

"He's lucky to have you as a mum," Sybil said, "to be willing to sacrifice as you have for him. I look forward to the luncheon you'll prepare tomorrow."

"I just hope it comes off," Ethel said, seeming a bit embarrassed.

Sybil smiled. "I am a terrible cook, so your ability to learn your way around the kitchen gives me hope."

Ethel smiled again, this time more genuinely than before.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first scene is a rewrite of that we saw on the show reimagined to include Sybil. If you remember, the scene was at the height of the bitterness between Cora and Robert over Sybil's death. Since that didn't happen in this universe, the dynamic of Robert's angry entrance is quite different, but I hope still realistic within the family dynamics as I have written them.
> 
> The second scene is one in which Sybil and Robert confront the tension between them. Sybil, in my mind, was never interested in having her parents' approval but, she still wanted their love. I've always believed that the fear of losing her family, rather any uncertainty about her love for Tom, was what held her back in giving Tom an answer. In Dublin, she was free to live her life and think about her family when she wanted to and free to imagine a smooth reconciliation with them. Likewise, Robert didn't have to face her choice every single day. Now that both she and Tom live in the house, he does, and Sybil in turn has to face his lingering disappointment in her choices. Sybbie's birth provided a bit of a reprieve, but the underlying tension didn't necessarily go away. Thanks to the luncheon, all of that comes to a head.

 

 

Conversation had been light and pleasant as the Crawley women sat around Isobel's dining room. It was a rare moment of harmony among a group sometimes prone to disagreement about this or that, and Sybil felt good about being home to be a part of it. At Cora and her sisters' insistence, she'd left Sybbie home under the housemaid Lily's care again and despite her own arguments for bringing her along ("She's a woman in the family, why shouldn't she come?"), she was enjoying being able to converse and enjoy herself without having to worry about whether her daughter was asleep or needed a new nappy.

"This was very good," Cora said as she finished her meal.

"It was," Isobel said, sounding very pleased. "It really was."

Violet looked over at Isobel, questioning her tone. "Don't sound so surprised."

"I am surprised," Isobel replied. "I owe Ethel an apology. I underestimated her."

"I sometimes wonder if I should learn to cook," Edith said.

"Why?" Mary asked.

"You never know," Edith responded. "It might come in handy one day."

"I wish I'd had the chance to learn before I was married," Sybil said. "It would have saved Tom and me more than a few trips to the pub back in Dublin."

"But didn't Mrs. Patmore teach you before your nurse training in York?" Mary asked.

"Not everything. I can make stew, eggs and a good vanilla cake—hardly enough to fill a week's menu."

"My mother taught me a bit more than I've taught you girls," Cora said, "so I suppose I am to blame."

Violet huffed. "I would never presume that a daughter or granddaughter of mine would ever need to know how."

"A lady should never starve," Cora said, responding to what she understood as a dig at her mother. "That was her philosophy."

"A good one to live by," Isobel put in with a smile.

"Anyway, whether it's cooking or something else, I've got to do something," Edith said.

"You are writing, aren't you? How is that going?" Isobel asked.

"I haven't published anything yet," Edith said. "I've sent a few ideas to Mr. Gregson, but I haven't settled on my first topic. He says he wants me to have several columns at the ready when he starts publishing . . . especially before I am used to working on a deadline. It feels a bit silly, to be honest. Who wants to hear about anything from me?"

"You seemed so excited about it when we spoke a while ago," Sybil said. "I wish you'd told me you needed some help."

Edith smiled. "I'm afraid it's more a matter of confidence. Papa said no one would be interested in anything but my title."

"Matthew tells me he was against it," Isobel said.

"I still don't see why he thought he should have a say," Sybil said with a sigh.

"Oh, really?" Violet said raising her eyebrow, skeptically.

"It's Edith's life," Sybil said, not missing a beat, "and it's hardly a scandalous thing to do, write for a newspaper."

"What do you think, Isobel?" Edith asked Isobel.

"I think it's wonderful to have a woman's perspective in the newspaper, but your father would have his own reasons for disagreeing," Isobel replied. "I wouldn't want to get in the middle of that."

"Then why bring it up?" Violet asked.

"Can't we just have a conversation, granny, without a motive?" Sybil asked.

"Sybil, my dear, there is always a motive," Violet said.

"Well, even so, Tom and I are behind you, Edith, and I'm sure you'll be splendid once you start," Sybil said.

"So am I," Mary put in, "and so is Matthew."

Before anything more could be said, the door to the room from the hall opened suddenly, revealing a clearly angry Robert.

"And so is Matthew what?" He asked, almost yelling as he stepped into the room. "What else has Matthew decided for my family?"

Isobel's eyes widened and she stood. "Robert?

"Don't worry," Robert said. "I don't need to be fed. We're going. All of you, now."

"What are you talking about?" Cora asked wondering what had come over her husband.

"Do you know who has prepared this luncheon for you?" He asked incensed.

Isobel and Sybil looked at one another, already knowing where this was leading, even while the rest of the women of the party remained, largely ignorant.

Still, it was Cora who answered Robert. "Yes, Ethel, our former housemaid," she said.

"Who bore a bastard child," Robert said.

It wasn't a fact unknown to anyone at the table, but the forceful way Robert spit out the words made almost everyone at the table flinch. Sybil only rolled her eyes, something Robert did not miss.

"Papa, Ethel has rebuilt her life," Sybil said.

"Has she?" Robert said. "Do you know what she has built it into?"

"What do you mean?" Mary asked.

"I think cousin Robert is referring to Ethel's work as a prostitute," Isobel said.

Sybil shook her head in frustration as she saw the rest of the party look back at Isobel aghast.

For a long moment no one said anything. Sybil was about to speak up when Violet beat her to the punch.

"Well, of course, these days servants are very hard to find," she said airily.

"Oh, granny, must everything always be made into a joke!" Sybil said, starting to become angry. "Ethel deserves our compassion, not our judgment and certainly not your jokes."

"Compassion?" Robert spit out. "Is that what your husband's politics has taught you? To befriend women who—"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, papa—Tom isn't even here, and I certainly didn't need him to learn to be an open-minded person."

"I don't think you understand the difficulties she's had to face," Isobel cut in, trying to steer the conversation away from a possible confrontation between Sybil and Robert.

"I couldn't care less how she earns her living," Robert replied, angrily, "Good luck to her. What I care about is that you have exposed my family to scandal."

"But who would know?" Isobel asked.

"What scandal?!" Sybil exclaimed, speaking at the same time as Isobel.

Robert looked over at Sybil but ignored her and, instead, answered Isobel's question. "I can't tell you how people find out these things but they do. Your gardener, your kitchen maid, your—"

"And what would they say," Sybil interrupted. "Mrs. Crawley is helping someone in desperate circumstances? Oh, yes, I can see how you'd want to keep that out of the gossip mill!"

"Neither sarcasm nor willful naiveté is going to save you or this family from the very real harm that . . ." Robert trailed off as Ethel came into the room.

She had heard the argument as she approached the room, of course, but she couldn't very well avoid the dining room. She was being counted on, and she wouldn't let her current employer down, even if it meant facing the humiliation that would surely come at the hands of her former one.

Once again, it was Violet who broke the heavy silence that settled over the room. "I suppose she has an appropriate costume for every activity."

"We're leaving," Robert said with finality.

Ethel looked at the women around the table, then back to Robert. "Is this because of me, milord?"

"No," Sybil said, defiantly, "it's because of his lordship, and we're not leaving. _I'm_ not, anyway. Is that a charlotte russe? How delicious."

"I hope it's tasty, milady," Ethel said. "Mrs. Patmore gave me some help."

"Well, I for one am glad to know that Mrs. Patmore has a good heart and does not judge," Sybil said, reaching for her wine glass. She took a sip then set it down and brought her hand, shaking from her anger, back to her lap where Mary, sitting next to her, reached for it to calm her. Across the table, Cora noticed the gesture and felt endeared by the support they were giving each other now and since Sybil had returned.

"Is anyone coming?" Robert asked.

Cora turned to look over at her husband. "Robert, please. Why worry yourself over something that hasn't happened? We've had our luncheon already. What would be the point of leaving now? If there is a scandal to follow, we'll face it like we do everything else, as a family."

Sybil looked at her mother and offered a grateful smile, but Robert was not satisfied.

"It does seem a pity to miss such a good pudding," Violet added for good measure.

Robert had heard enough, and just as quickly as he entered, left the room and the house.

Cora let out a sigh. "I'm sorry for that," she said quietly. "He'll calm down with time."

"I'm sorry," Isobel said, "I should have said something."

"Don't trouble yourself with that now," Cora said.

No more was said, as Ethel began cutting and passing out the pudding, but Sybil knew that this would not be the end of it, not if another conversation didn't happen first.

* * *

Stepping into the library, Sybil watched her father for a moment. His attitude earlier in the day had angered her, and while in previous years she might have let the sentiment fester, she knew that was no longer a good option. Robert would simply take his anger out on Tom and Tom would, in turn, grow even more miserable than he already was about having agreed to stay in a place he had never expected to end up.

"Are you busy?" she asked quietly stepping into the room.

Robert looked up from the book he was reading, stood as she walked toward him then sat back down again. "How was your charlotte russe?"

"Very good," Sybil said, pursing her lips to hold back her smile. "You should have had some yourself."

Robert rolled his eyes.

"Do you think me a fallen woman?"

The question startled Robert so much he almost dropped his book.

"It's just that I wonder," Sybil continued, "if your anger at Isobel for helping Ethel is not displaced anger at me. You seem so convinced that merely being waited on by a woman in those circumstances will bring scandal upon the family that I wonder how you can stand dining next to me every night."

Robert sighed. "Your choice as to a husband may have been ill advised, but he is your _husband_. And your daughter was conceived and born within the bounds of marriage as is proper."

"That's true, but can't you see how in my mind, Ethel's situation and mine are not so different?"

"How can you possibly have come to that conclusion?" Robert asked, standing again and setting his book aside on the desk.

"She fell in love with a man of a different class, and so did I," Sybil answered simply.

Robert narrowed his eyes at Sybil but said nothing.

"There are two differences between Ethel and me," Sybil went on. "One is that Captain Charles Bryant, a titled man whom you would have welcomed as your son-in-law, did Ethel a great wrong—two wrongs if you consider his indiscretion and his abandonment of their child as separate sins. Tom, on the other hand, is an honest, hard-working and honorable person who does not deserve your disdain. The other difference between Ethel and myself is that if I had been as unlucky as she was, I wouldn't have had to go to the lengths she did to provide for myself because my family would not have abandoned me . . . isn't that right?" Sybil looked down, surprised by the well of emotion rising in her. "Or would you have cast me to the wolves?"

Robert did not know what to say, but on seeing tears welling in Sybil's eyes as she asked the question, he stood to walk over to her and brought her into his arms. For several minutes, Sybil cried into her father's shoulder, releasing tension that had been building in her from the day she had left Downton with Tom to begin her new life in Ireland. She would never regret the decision to do so, but in Dublin the fallout as it affected her family—Robert in particular—was out of sight and out of mind. There, everything was new and exciting, life moved quickly and relentlessly forward, Sybil was not confronted every day with the emotional distance that separated her from her father, and she could imagine a future in which he would welcome her back home with open arms, no matter what circumstances brought her back.

Back at Downton, however, the seemingly insurmountable and always unacknowledged chasm between them lay before her every day, and while she would never behave in order to have his _approval_ , she was still eager for him to love her despite her choices and opinions, in the same way she loved him in spite of _his_.

Eventually, he pulled away and handed her his handkerchief, which she took to wipe the tears from her eyes.

"Did you really fear Tom might abandon you?" Robert asked quietly.

Sybil looked at him with an expression of disbelief. "I never doubted Tom, papa, I doubted _you_!"

"Me?"

"There's a war going on in Ireland, and when he became involved with the Republicans, I supported him because it means so much to him, but sometimes I'd think, 'What if something happens to him, and I have to return to England with a baby and papa turns me away at the door?'"

The words were sobering for Robert to hear. "You thought me capable of doing that?"

"When you gave us your blessing, you didn't really mean it—"

"Sybil—"

"Please don't deny it, papa. You said the words because you were emotional about almost losing mama to Spanish flu and because you knew I would leave with him anyway. I realized as much when you didn't come to the wedding, and then when you didn't write—you never wrote, and Mary and Edith and mama never mentioned you in their letters. What signal did I have to hold on to that you'd truly accepted my decision and forgiven me for not doing things your way? None! When that unsigned letter came with the money to come for Mary's wedding, I wanted it to be from you so much, but again I was disappointed. And now, we're living here and you pretend that you're not constantly wishing I'd done things differently, and I pretend that it doesn't hurt to see the disappointment in your eyes every time you look at me and every time you blame Tom for something I've done or said."

Robert smiled sadly and let out a long sigh. "There's disappointment in your eyes too, when you look at me, but I cannot help but be the man I am, the man that I was raised to be."

"And I cannot help but be the woman _I_ am, the woman _you_ raised, so can we agree to accept that as our reality and still love each other as father and daughter?"

Robert looked into his daughter's eyes—his own eyes—for a long time, so long that Sybil wondered if he would leave the question unanswered. "I can manage my end," Robert said quietly, "on one condition."

"What's that?"

"If Tom plays cricket for the house."

A chortle—half-laughter, half-relief—came from Sybil's mouth with such force that her eyes watered again.

"So what'll it be?" Robert asked, not without some urgency, which Sybil knew to attribute entirely to his concerns about the cricket match.

"Consider it done," she said with a confident nod.

"So sure are you of your ability to persuade him?"

Sybil smiled. "You like to think that his influence on me is more than it really is, but the truth is that we balance one another rather nicely. When he first came to Downton as chauffeur and we became friends—"

"Sybil, I'd really rather not hear this, if it's all the same," Robert said, moving to pick his book back up to sit down and begin reading again.

"Just hear me out, please."

Robert sat down on the sofa with a sigh, and Sybil took a seat next to him.

"When we first became friends—nothing more, mind, just friends—I told him that I found it funny that he was 'a revolutionary chauffeur,' and he answered, 'I'm a socialist, not a revolutionary.'"

Robert raised his eyebrows, as if to express his skepticism.

"It's true! And as I grew closer to him, I realized what he was saying was true. His politics may seem revolutionary to you, but he's actually quite thoughtful and deliberate about how he makes decisions. Between the two of us, I'm the true rabble-rouser, always after the thrill that comes with change."

Robert smiled in spite of himself. "I won't argue with that."

Sybil stood again to go. "I should go check on Sybbie."

Robert stood to see her go. At the door, she turned around and said, "I can't promise a result on the pitch, but I know he'll do right by Downton in his work as agent."

With that, she left him alone to think about everything that she'd said.

* * *

On hearing the door to their room open, Sybil turned with Sybbie in her arms and said, "Look, darling, it's your papa!"

"Da!" Tom replied, making Sybil laugh.

"I know, I know. Old habits, I suppose."

Tom shed his suit jacket, leaving it in a heap on the floor by the door, and walked over to the window, where Sybil was standing to give both his girls a kiss. "How was your luncheon with Isobel?"

Sybil smiled. "Eventful."

"I hope not as eventful as my breakfast with Matthew and your father. I'm afraid Robert will only be brought into the 20th century kicking and screaming."

"He'll come around," Sybil said. "Downton means too much to him to risk losing it again."

Tom smiled and dropped another kiss on Sybil's cheek before turning to the bed, where he saw a sight that did not please him—white trousers, a white shirt and a white vest. They could only be for one thing. "What's this?!"

"I asked Mary if Matthew had any extra clothes for the match. She sent Moseley with these just a few minutes before you arrived."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Love, I've been telling you for days I am not interested in playing."

Nonplussed, Sybil replied, "And I'm telling you now that I will make it worth your while."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're fully into 3x08, version: Sybil lives. A few things to set up this chapter: Nothing has changed about Rose's role in the episode. All of that happens as it happened on the show, with the exception that when she goes back to London with Edith and Matthew, Matthew doesn't go along to secretly see a doctor (and subsequently doesn't accidentally meet Mary there) since that issue was already resolved in this universe. Instead, though we don't actually see him do it, assume he goes to see Murray to finalize his plans for the estate, which Robert is still hemming and hawing about. As happened on the show, Robert fights Matthew and Tom on it, and Tom is the one to convince him (although in this case, as we know from the last chapter, Robert doesn't ask Tom to play cricket in return for agreeing, since Sybil takes care of that). I won't rewrite the trip to London or that scene between Tom and Robert but there will be references to them both.
> 
> What we will see is a scene with Edith and Sybil in which Sybil weighs in on Edith's situation with Gregson (this is when Edith thinks he's flirting, but then finds out he's married and in a second trip to London confronts him about it). Edith also fills Sybil in on Violet's plan for Ethel to get a job somewhere other than Downton, and on what happened with Rose (remember that she snuck off to sleep with and party with a married friend of her father's in London, got caught by Matthew, Edith and Rosamund and returned to Downton with the promise from them that they wouldn't tell as long as she behaved, except Violet figures it out and punishes her by sending her to Duneagle with "Aunt Agatha"). Rose and Sybil also have a brief exchange.
> 
> Lastly, I'm not going to get into the whole Thomas being almost outed by Jimmy (goaded by O'Brien) storyline, but assume that all of that also happened as it did on the show.

 

"Where are you off to?" Sybil asked Edith as the two passed one another in the hall outside the library.

Sybil was holding Sybbie, and Edith was dressed for travel.

"Not off," Edith replied. "Just returning."

"Oh, from where?"

"London," Edith said with a sigh. "I left early this morning to meet with Michael Gregson again."

Something about the way Edith said the man's name made Sybil take notice. Earlier in the week, when Edith had gone to London with Rose and Matthew to meet with Gregson and share some of the first columns she'd written, she'd seemed excited. She'd returned with news, equally exciting, that her first column would appear in The Sketch the following week. Now, however, her demeanor seemed altogether different.

"Are you still in line to publish next week?" Sybil asked. "I'm looking forward to reading your article. Tom thought it was finely written, though he wouldn't disclose the topic so it would be a surprise."

Edith offered a small smile. "He's too kind, but I did appreciate his help."

"Well, Sybbie and I are going outside. Matthew is teaching Tom how to play cricket, and Mrs. Hughes has been kind enough to lay out tea and a blanket for Sybbie so we may watch. Would you like to join us?"

Edith hesitated, so Sybil added. "It's a lovely day. I'm sure the fresh air will feel good after being cooped up on the train."

Edith smiled. "I'll be down to join you after I change."

Sybil smiled and watched Edith march quietly up the stairs until she was out of sight, before proceeding out the door.

About ten minutes later, Sybbie gurgling happily on the blanket while Sybil made faces at her, Edith joined them.

"How is Tom doing?" Edith asked while helping herself to tea from the table that had been set up just a few feet away.

"Not very well, I'm afraid," Sybil said. "He's being a good sport, but not likely to be a difference maker on the pitch come Sunday."

"Will papa ever forgive him if the house loses?" Edith asked, teasingly as she sat on the blanket next to Sybil.

"Papa was desperate the he play just so the house could field a team and I had to work hard to persuade him, so after all that fuss papa can't possibly complain no matter how he does."

Edith smiled a knowing smile. "I doubt the persuasion part of it bothered you all that much."

Sybil looked at Edith in surprise at her innuendo.

"Don't look at me like that," Edith said. "Just because I'm doomed to be an old spinster doesn't mean I don't know what marriage is supposed to be like."

Sybil's smile softened. "I wish you wouldn't talk like that. You don't know what's going to happen."

"Neither do you, Sybil, so there's no sense in pretending things are going to be better than they have been."

Sybil bit her lip and watched Edith closely as Edith's eyes looked over the yard to where Tom and Matthew were standing behind a net and makeshift wicket that Matthew had set up.

"Did something happen?" Sybil asked quietly.

"What do you mean?" Edith responded, looking back at Sybil again.

"It's only that just a few days ago you seemed very happy with your writing and going to London to see the editor, and today . . . I suppose I just wonder if something changed."

Edith sighed. "It did—well, sort of. I'm probably making too much of it."

"What?"

"When I was there on Monday, I . . . well, he was very kind— _too_ kind. Not in a bad way, just . . . it seemed like he liked me. More than one should like someone who's just an employee."

Sybil's face brightened. "Maybe—"

"He's married."

"Oh."

"He _was_ flirting with me. He admitted as much today. But even before I spoke to him again, I knew it wasn't all in my head, so I thought I'd check up on him, just to make sure. That was how I found out that he was married."

"Is that why you went to see him again today?"

Edith nodded. "He explained his situation, such as it is. His wife is in an asylum. Apparently, her mind has not been whole for some time, so he all but considers himself a bachelor."

"Except he isn't."

"No," Edith said quietly. "He wasn't flirting out of malicious intent. He is a nice man, not trying to take advantage like some."

At the last, Edith rolled her eyes, which Sybil wondered at. "Are you talking about someone specific?"

Edith looked at Sybil, realizing what she'd said. She sighed, then added, "Well, there's no harm in telling you I suppose. The trip to London with Matthew and Rose was eventful for reasons other than my being flirted with. That was on the more harmless end of the spectrum."

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you only if you promise not to say anything. Aunt Rosamund, Matthew and I have sworn ourselves to secrecy for Rose's sake."

Sybil smirked. "Are we talking about the supposed 'surprise' she was planning for Susan?"

"It was a surprise, all right, though not one Susan would like in the least if she ever finds out."

"I promise to keep it to myself, although, as sweet as Rose can sometimes be, I dare say keeping a secret is not a favor I would ever trust _her_ with."

"You're probably right," Edith replied. "In any case, she snuck off from Rosamund's without a word, spent several hours doing God knows what at the home of one of Shrimpy's friends with his wife conveniently absent."

"Good heavens! But are you sure that they—"

"Trust me, Sybil, I saw them with my own eyes. Not even youthful exuberance may excuse Rose from this."

Sybil gasped. "You _saw_ them?"

Edith's eyes widened, practically bugging out of her head. "I didn't see _that_! She took a taxi from Rosamund to this vile man's house, then asked the driver to wait, which he did for two hours. Then, they went to an underground jazz club. It so happened that Rose left her scarf in the taxi and the driver was kind enough to come back to Rosamund's to return it, which was how we found out. He seemed to know that what he'd been an inadvertent party to was out of bounds, which was what drove him to confess the whole thing. We went to the club to fetch her, and that was where we saw them. Without exaggerating, Sybil, she was acting like a right tart. They were kissing and holding each other and showing absolutely no compunction when they saw us."

"Well, I put the blame on the man entirely," Sybil said. "If he's a friend of Shrimpy's as you say, then he's a great deal older than she is and was obviously manipulating her."

"She was there of her own free will, Sybil, I can attest to that."

"Of course, she was!" Sybil said, "Dancing at a jazz club? _I_ would go of my own free will. But that's what I mean. She wanted to have some fun, and who would blame her for being young and chomping at the bit to come out from under Susan's thumb. He saw an opportunity to exploit that and did."

"I don't think Susan would see it that way," Edith said. "Never mind the fact that Rose lied to all of us."

"I'm not saying she's blameless," Sybil said. "Of course, she should have known better, and I wouldn't excuse her from abusing your trust. All I'm saying is that there are degrees of guilt."

"How very philosophical," Edith responded with a smile.

"He is more guilty than she is, but she is much more so than you."

Edith looked at Sybil with a look of shock.

"You like him, don't you? Mr. Gregson, in spite of his situation?"

Edith looked away, but did not answer.

Sybil put her hand on her sister's shoulder. "Rose cavorting with a man whose wife's only fault is the misfortune of having a terrible husband is not the same as you having an unspoken interest in a man who willingly confessed a marriage to a woman who is not in her right mind after only a bit of harmless flirting."

"A marriage is a marriage, Sybil," Edith said. "There may be degrees of guilt, but there are no degrees of _that_."

"No, but you've done nothing wrong, and you do nothing wrong in the mere contemplation of doing something. I won't tell you whether you should or shouldn't, only that you shouldn't punish yourself for hoping for happiness, however it may come and however difficult it may be to attain. That you discovered this at the same time that all this business with Rose happened is mere coincidence, but you seem to be associating the two, and you shouldn't."

Edith looked back at Sybil again, this time smiling more sincerely than she had yet that afternoon. "Thank you."

"Besides, our parents have a history of forgiving their daughters' unforgivable sins."

Edith knew Sybil was only talking of herself, and her choice to run away with the chauffeur over her parents' objections. Sybil did not know, like Edith did, that her statement also applied to Mary and that long ago night with the Turkish man. Still, as much as Edith appreciated the sentiment and believed its sincerity coming from Sybil, she couldn't help but wonder whether her parents' magnanimity would also apply to her.

The two sisters, and baby Sybbie, watched Tom and Matthew for several quiet minutes before Edith spoke up again.

"By the way," Edith said, "you'll be happy to know that Granny is doing a good deed for Ethel."

"A good deed?" Sybil asked.

"Before I went to London, she asked me to take an advertisement for a maid or housekeeper looking for work."

Sybil's brow furrowed. "But Ethel has a job."

"Well," Edith continued tentatively, "I believe Granny feels that her past is too close to her here."

"What could she mean?"

"That too many people know of her circumstances in the village, and judge her harshly as a result. Somewhere new, where Ethel isn't known well, she might make a new life."

"It's not a bad idea, though I reckon her real motivation is assuring that a former prostitute is not in the family's employ."

Edith smiled. "I figured you would say that."

* * *

The following Saturday, the family and the staff all walked to the village green together for the annual cricket match. The event had never been of particular interest to Sybil as she was growing up, but in seeing the house team—Tom among them—all mingling together and wearing clothes that, for once, did not immediately reveal their positions, but rather emphasized that on this day they were equal in their pursuit of one goal, winning for the house, Sybil couldn't help but consider this a great tradition indeed.

Soon after they arrived, Sybil settled herself and Sybbie in the family's tent and not one half-hour later, the game was under way. Tom wasn't exactly distinguishing himself with excellent play, but from what Sybil could tell, he wasn't drawing attention to himself with especially terrible play either. He, along with the rest of the team, dropped in on the family tent during occasional breaks in play, always taking a moment to dote on Sybbie before returning to the field.

At one point, after one such break, Mary came over and sat next to Sybil, taking Sybbie onto her lap. Now that she had come to understand her own situation and gone to the trouble of resolving it, Mary no longer felt pressure while holding Sybbie, nor did she fear that she'd never hold a child of her own. The doctor had warned her and Matthew not to expect a child within the month, but he also suggested that it would likely happen sooner rather than later. Merely weeks after her corrective procedure, she already felt like new, and with Robert finally accepting Matthew's plan for the management of the estate, she truly felt as if the life she was meant to live truly was about to start.

"Papa seems to be in a jolly mood," Sybil said, as Mary cooed at Sybbie.

"Indeed," Mary replied. "I haven't been paying the game any mind, but I can only imagine it means it's going well for the team."

"Well, whatever the cause, I'm glad. Tom has said that he's been difficult lately in dealing with Matthew's plans."

"You know him," Mary said, "a tradition may be proven useless many times over, and he'll cling to it regardless. He does want to do right by Downton, though, which is why he's finally agreed to move forward, thanks in no small part to Tom." Mary laughed lightly, then added, "Who'd have thought he's the one who would turn papa's head?"

"Tom does have a way with words," Sybil said, smiling to herself. "But more than that, he understands the challenge and effort maintaining something afloat through hard work."

"So does Matthew, and he didn't have much luck."

"Matthew never worked for papa, so papa doesn't think of him as someone who works."

"I suppose you're right about that," Mary said with a sigh. "So Downton will be saved because you married the chauffeur."

Sybil laughed. "Aren't you glad I didn't listen to your advice and push him away?"

Mary smirked but didn't say anything. Sybil watched her sister for a moment. If Sybil was honest with herself, she'd have to admit that even now Mary, if given the chance to do it all over again, would likely still try to stop Sybil from leaving with Tom. However much Mary had grown and come to see the complexities of the world in the few years since that fateful night of the confrontation at the Swan Inn, she was still sometimes as prone to clinging to tradition as their father—even if she was better able to recognize how aristocratic traditions often hindered progress. Sybil knew that Mary had embraced Tom only for her sake (and because Matthew had done so), but Sybil forgave Mary for this truth because she also believed that Mary wouldn't always feel that way.

"Do you mind staying with her for a moment?" Sybil asked Mary, gesturing to Sybbie. "I wouldn't mind stretching my legs a bit."

Mary smiled. "Go on."

Sybil stood and ambled toward the front of the tent. She was about to step out when a clearly angry Rose pushed past her and sat down on one of the chairs in a huff.

"What's wrong, Rose?" Sybil called out to her, concerned.

"Oh, nothing," she replied sarcastically, "I've just been betrayed is all."

Sybil bit her lip, her mind going immediately to the secret rendezvous Edith had told her about. She stepped gingerly toward Rose and sat down next to her. "I didn't say anything, I promise."

Rose looked at Sybil in alarm. "How did _you_ know?" Rose rolled her eyes and added, "Rosamund, Edith and Matthew have a funny definition of keeping secrets."

"They were only trying to help you," Sybil offered.

"What help? I'd never have been found out if they'd not meddled."

Now it was Sybil's turn to roll her eyes. "You were out in public with a married man and an acquaintance of your father's. Do you honestly think that was going to stay a secret long?"

"Are _you_ honestly judging me?"

Sybil's face hardened slightly and she stood. "I am not judging you, but don't you judge me by conflating our choices, because there is a great deal of difference between what I've chosen to do with my life and what you are letting childish caprice do to yours."

"You needn't be so high and mighty all the time. I don't care about you and your husband. I only meant that you have as much experience as I do lying to your parents—or has marriage made you so sanctimonious that you've forgotten you used to be rebellious?"

Sybil sat back down with a sigh. "I'm sorry. It's hard not to be defensive about him, especially with family."

Rose shrugged. "He seems to be doing fine. I doubt even mummy would guess his background if she didn't already know it. Do bring him to Duneagle next year. It would annoy her so."

Sybil snickered. "I doubt very much he'd want to go, but we'll see." Seeing another break in play, Sybil stood to walk over to where the players were. "Speaking of, I should go see how he's doing."

Rose simply nodded and went back to her fuming, which Sybil couldn't help but smile at. She and Rose were different in how they chose to act out their rebellious instincts—one fostering political interests over her father's objections, and the other by acting out social taboos specifically to spark her mother's ire—but on some level, Sybil did understand what it felt like to live under an oppressive thumb, even if her parents' version of oppression was more forgiving than Susan Flintshire's.

As she approached the players' area she saw Thomas and her father giving some batting advice to a skeptical Tom. Seeing her approach, Tom smiled and said, "I'm afraid I'm a lost cause," and walked over to Sybil.

He leaned down to give her a light kiss on the cheek.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Sybil asked.

"I can think of better ways to spend a Saturday afternoon, but I suppose it would be fair to say I can also think of worse."

Sybil smiled. "Thank you for participating. I know it seems like we're making an awful lot of compromises, but they'll come back to us."

Tom lifted his hand to her cheek and said quietly, "I know."

He was about to bend down to kiss her again when Robert yelled out behind him. "Tom, you're up to bat."

Tom rolled his eyes, and turned to go. Sybil yelled out after him, "I'll make it all up to you."

"Yes, you will," Tom called out over his shoulder.

Sybil could only laugh. She was about to turn back toward the tent when she saw Thomas.

"He's not wrong about being a lost cause, I'm afraid," he said.

"With you on the team, it doesn't much matter does it?" Sybil teased. "I can't say I know much of the sport, but his lordship seems to think you essential."

Thomas looked away. "That's not a word most people would say about me."

"Maybe they don't know you so well as I do."

Thomas smiled but said nothing else.

"I'll leave you to it," Sybil said and turned to leave.

"Lady Sybil?" Thomas said after she'd taken a step.

Sybil turned back toward Thomas.

"I know you'd likely not have chosen to come back if you could help it, but it's nice to have you back."

Sybil smiled. "Thank you for saying that."

As she made her way back to the family's tent, Sybil thought about what had been left behind in Ireland. She missed that life dearly, but she couldn't deny that the one she and Tom had forged back at Downton had its charms. It made her feel confident about the future and their ability to weather whatever it would bring.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next touch a couple of small details that happen in the time jump between the last episode of S3 and the journey to Scotland. Namely, Sybil going back to work and having the usual work-life balance issues that all working mothers of all eras have always had, leading her to accept some help from a part-time nanny.

 

**February 1921**

"Tom," Sybil said quietly as she held Sybbie to her hip with one hand and tried to shake him awake with the other. "Tom . . . TOM!"

Finally, once Sybil started shouting, Tom shook awake, eyes blinking at the bright sunlight coming into the room from the wide-open curtains.

"What time is it?" he croaked out, rubbing his eyes as he sat up in bed. "Wait . . . how did I get here?"

Sybil smiled. "Your equally exhausted wife managed to pull you off the arm chair and drag you into bed when I came in."

"I don't even remember," Tom said, looking around as if disoriented from having been woken from an especially deep sleep.

"So she kept you up again last night?" Sybil asked, motioning to a wide awake and cooing Sybbie.

Tom nodded and let out a long sigh. He noticed for the first time that Sybil was still wearing her nursing uniform, which meant that she had arrived home from her night shift fairly recently or hadn't managed to remove it and rest for looking after Sybbie.

"Oh, darling," Sybil said looking at her daughter, "you were sleeping so well before. Why did you have to pick the week mummy began to work again to make a fuss?"

"You don't really think it's a coincidence, do you?" Tom asked.

"You think she's having trouble sleeping because I'm not home as much?" Sybil asked, a bit alarmed, a bit angry at the suggestion.

Tom scratched the back of his head and stood, heading to the bathroom. "She notices your absence and is having a difficult time adjusting—I'm not saying it's your fault, just a result of our current circumstances."

Sybil frowned. "I suppose it was too much to hope that the transition would go smoothly. Maybe my working was a bad idea."

Hearing emotion in Sybil's voice, Tom turned and saw her eyes water slightly as she looked at Sybbie. He walked back over to her and pulled both mother and daughter into his arms. "Love, I know that you expect to excel at everything you try, but being a nurse and a mother at the same time all the while I am getting used to a new job is going to take time. Let's give ourselves more than a week. If we're still miserably exhausted come March then we'll figure out what needs to change."

Sybil didn't say anything in response, but he could feel her nodding against him.

"Now, why don't I ring for Lily so you can have a rest? Or at least change out of your uniform?"

Sybil pulled back with a sigh. "Today is Lily's half-day. I don't want to impose on her or Mrs. Hughes that much. I'll be fine," she said trying to turn away, but Tom caught her shoulder and brought her back to face him.

"Sybil, you need sleep."

"Well, unless you plan on taking Sybbie down to breakfast with you I can't have it right now."

Tom smiled. "That's a fine idea." Taking Sybbie from Sybil's arms, he said, "What do you say we go surprise your grand-da?"

"He's not going to like that," Sybil said, though Tom could see that she was smiling as she said it.

* * *

After getting himself ready and ensuring that Sybbie had a clean nappy, father and daughter headed down to the dining room so that mother could have an hour of rest.

Grandpapa Robert wasn't particularly thrilled by the intrusion, but Aunt Edith and Uncle Matthew were delighted and took turns holding her so Tom could have his breakfast, by the end of which even Thomas had taken time walking the fussy little lady about the dining room.

Later that morning, Tom long since gone to work and Sybil reasonably well rested, bathed and dressed for the day, Sybil remained in her room with Sybbie laying on a blanket near the window enjoying the sounds of her mother reading to her. They'd made it through several of Beatrix Potter's works when they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in," Sybil called out.

"I'm not disturbing you, am I?" Mary asked, coming into the room.

"Not at all," Sybil said with a smile. "Join us," she added, pointing to a spot on the floor next to her.

Mary eyed the floor warily, until Sybil said, "You'll want to do this with your own, so you might as well have the practice."

"I'll practice calling nanny, no doubt," Mary said, looking at Sybil from the side of her eyes as she tucked her legs under her, causing Sybil to laugh. Looking down at the contented Sybbie, Mary said, "Hello, darling."

Sybbie waved her arms and feet and continued to gurgle happily.

"She recognizes your voice," Sybil said.

"It's funny how having a child in the house changes things—get a peek at her and it's hard to stay in a sour mood for long. I can't imagine what it'll be like when she's running down the halls."

"I can't say she'll live here quite _that_ long, but her cousins will have the run of the place, no doubt."

A slight blush came over Mary's face, and Mary not being one to wear her emotions so visibly, Sybil took notice. "How are you feeling . . . on that front?"

Mary looked down. "Well, now that you mention it . . ."

Sybil waited for Mary to complete her sentence, but instead, Mary simply looked up into her sister's eyes and Sybil had her answer. She gasped and put her hand over her mouth to try to contain her happiness, in case she'd misread Mary's expression. "You mean?"

Mary let out an uneasy breath. "I . . . I think so. It's been a month and a half."

"Oh, Mary! Have you gone to Dr. Clarkson? What does Matthew say?"

"I haven't told him—or Dr. Clarkson. That's the first time I've said it out loud to be honest. I haven't wanted to let myself hope so I keep thinking that I'm fooling myself and it's going to come any minute."

Sybil stood quickly. "Mary, go get your coat and hat. We're going to the hospital."

Mary stood too, now seeming a bit nervous. "I suppose it's silly to keep delaying."

Sybil smiled and took Mary's hand. "I'll be there no matter what happens."

* * *

The news was good. And once Mary and Sybil were back home from the hospital, it spread quickly.

Back when Mary and Matthew first got married, and Sybil and Tom had returned to the house for the wedding, Sybil felt a tiny pang of regret that her own happy nuptials were not so joyously feted by her parents. So she might be forgiven if she thought that the news of Mary's pregnancy was likewise celebrated as a happier occasion than her own. But no such feeling burdened her this time. Knowing what it meant to Mary and Matthew, she would not begrudge them any happiness, and she was too satisfied, too happy with her own life to bother with comparisons. The course of Sybbie's childhood would be different from that of her cousins and that was something for which both of her parents were glad.

For a few days, the news that another child would soon join Sybbie was all anyone in the house talked about, effectively taking Sybil and Tom's mind from the challenge they'd set themselves of being working parents. By the end of another week of sleepless nights, though, the toll began wearing them down again—so much so that even Cora noticed and, acting as a mother herself, decided to put her foot down.

She broached the topic on a walk around the gardens with Sybil, who was pushing Sybbie in her pram and was too tired to see it coming.

"I know what you're going to say, darling, but I'm asking Mrs. Hughes to put out an advertisement for nannies in next week's papers," Cora said with little preamble.

Sybil rolled her eyes and sighed. "Mama, I thought we were over this. We're not hiring a nanny and that's flat!"

"Sybil, you can't keep doing this to yourself," Cora replied, exasperatedly.

"To myself? What are you—"

"You were practically asleep at dinner last night, and Tom is having to put his estate work aside to look after her when you're not home, not to mention bringing her into the dining room."

"Mama, if you're asking me to shut Sybbie away all day except for an hour after tea, then I will decline."

Cora stopped walking and took Sybil's hands in her own. "Sybil, you may think I'm only trying to impose our style of living on you, but honestly, darling, I'm not. If you want to continue to work, as odd as I find that, I am your mother and I will support you, but you have to be reasonable. You're not doing Sybbie any favors by running yourself ragged just to prove a point."

"I'm not working just to prove a point! How can it be so difficult to understand that I enjoy being a nurse and I get a measure of satisfaction and happiness, even, from being useful?"

Cora sighed, and tried another tack. "I spoke with Mrs. Hughes this morning, and she said you've had Lily come up to watch Sybbie four times this week, not including the times you've rang for her and she wasn't available."

"Two of those were because you insist that Tom and I both dress for dinner, and apparently papa can't be bothered to look at his granddaughter while he's eating."

Cora's lips curved into a small smile as if she were conceding the point. "Would you prefer that we hire a new housemaid, so you can depend on Lily more reliably?"

Sybil looked away but did not answer, which Cora took as a positive sign that she wasn't going to say no out of hand. Cora watched Sybil for a long moment and then said, quietly, "You likely don't remember this, but when you were a little girl you used to fight with the nanny _constantly_."

"She wasn't very nice," Sybil said.

"She was likely more demanding than I would have been, but do you want to know what her more common complaint about you was?"

Sybil looked at her mother, waiting for the answer.

"Never was there a child so bent on doing everything—even the things she doesn't know how to do—all by herself."

Sybil couldn't help but chuckle.

Cora lifted her hand to Sybil's cheek. "I am so proud of you. I don't want to get in the way of you doing all the things you want to do. I just want to help. Being a wife and a mother—and a nurse, I suspect—will be all the more enjoyable if you have the time and energy to enjoy them, and right now, you don't."

Sybil took a deep breath and looked down at her sleeping daughter. Finally, she said, "Only in the mornings."

Cora nodded.

"And she'll still sleep in our room, not hidden away in the nursery—at least until she's one."

"All right."

"And I'll still look after her when I'm home."

Cora nodded.

"And only if Lily agrees."

Cora nodded again.

"And Tom and I will pay her ourselves."

"Anything else?"

"I reserve the right to change course again, if it doesn't go well."

Cora smiled and nodded again. "Very well."

Sybil sighed. "I will be glad to have an extra set of hands, but I do wish I didn't feel like I'd just given up in a fight. She is only one child."

"Oh, take care, my darling. Motherhood is nothing if not a long series of battles lost. I never managed so much as a draw against you three."

"Do you think she will be as headstrong as we were?"

Cora smiled at her granddaughter. "Let's hope so."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing to clarify about the last chapter: when Cora suggests hiring a nanny and Sybil initially turns her down, their compromise is to get Lily, the housemaid who occasionally watches Sybbie (as first referenced in chapter 4, and later by name in chapter 8) to take the job. Nanny Grey, the woman who is serving as nanny in the first episode of S4 who gets caught verbally abusing Sybbie, won't be appearing for a while as she is first hired to take care of George. I'll explain how she comes to take care of both kids as the story goes along. I just wanted to make sure people understood in case the way the conversation between Sybil and Cora wasn't clear.

 

When Lily was offered the chance to be Sybbie's part-time nanny, she happily accepted. And once she had officially taken the post, mornings went much more smoothly for the Bransons. Sybil also cut down her hours at the hospital, acknowledging that she'd taken off a bit more than she could chew by jumping in with both feet. Isobel, always a steadfast supporter, assured her that changing her routine (and Sybbie's and Tom's) in small increments would ensure an better adjustment for them all and make it easier for her to take on full time work eventually.

Sybil having more time at home was also a help to Mary, who was struck by the harshest symptoms of early pregnancy almost from the moment that her state was announced. Sybil, by contrast, had had a very easy early pregnancy, with little to no sickness or discomfort. Mary would have a wholly different experience, which—given the trouble she'd had conceiving the child—concerned both her and Matthew.

Less than a week after their first visit to the hospital, Mary was laid up in bed late into the morning, and Sybil could see the worry on her sister's face when Sybil came in to check on her at the hour of luncheon.

"Still can't keep anything down," Sybil said with a smile as she sat on the side of Mary's bed.

Mary shook her head. "Why didn't you tell me about this part?"

"Well, I didn't actually get sick early on," Sybil replied.

"What? You mean this doesn't happen to everyone?!"

"Most women have some discomfort early, but not all. All pregnancies are different. If you were to have another, you might not have any sickness at all either."

"Consider yourself lucky," Mary said with a sigh.

Sybil bit her lip. "They had to cut the baby out of me Mary. I don't know that I'm all that lucky . . . well, come to think of it, I suppose it was very lucky that I survived it."

Mary smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, darling. That was a bit insensitive."

Sybil's smile brightened. "It's all right. I know you feel terrible, but think of it this way. Sybbie didn't cause a fuss until it was time to come out. Perhaps with you, this part will be the most difficult and the delivery will be a breeze by comparison."

"Anything would be a breeze by comparison. I certainly hope Eve found the taste of the apple was worth all this trouble."

Sybil laughed. "It's not affected your sense of humor, so there's a blessing."

"All right, darling, I have to ask—why do you have soot on your forehead?"

Sybil looked confused and touched her forehead. "Oh! It's from the Ash Wednesday service this morning. It's something Catholics do to mark the start of Lent."

"Seems rather odd," Mary said.

"All religious ritual is a bit odd, if you ask me, but such is faith, isn't it?"

"Perhaps you should wipe it off before papa sees you," Mary said.

Sybil chuckled. "Why, when it's so amusing to see how the unconventional rankles him."

* * *

Matthew laughed as Tom took out a handkerchief and wiped the ashes from his forehead as the two headed out of the house on their way to the village to do some estate business that afternoon.

"What's so funny?" Tom asked.

"You," Matthew replied easily.

"Anything in particular?"

"Your penchant and talent for getting under Robert's skin. You wiping your forehead off now suggests that you are not required to keep the ash all day, which means you could have cleaned it off before you saw Robert."

"Who could have guessed he'd be so put off by the sight of it?"

Matthew gave Tom a knowing look, which led Tom to roll his eyes.

"At the risk of offending you, Matthew, protecting Robert or anyone else in the family from the knowledge that the world is made up of people who are different from them is not something I will ever do."

"I should hope not because, believe it or not, I do happen to agree the sentiment. At the risk of offending you, however, I only meant to point out that despite what you may say otherwise, you and Sybil do enjoy looking for a fight."

"You think so?" Tom asked good-naturedly, obviously not having taken offense at Matthew's words.

"I think it comes from a good place, what with your desire to upset the balance and bring change to the fore, but yes. Perfect example—do you remember all those years ago when Sybil wanted to hear the counting of the votes for some election or another, was warned by just about everyone, including you that things were likely to get heated and she best stay away, but she went anyway, and sure enough, the hooligans were out in full force and she paid the price. Thankfully with no more than a scratch to the forehead."

Tom gave Matthew a funny look and shook his head, which did not escape Matthew's notice.

"What?" He asked Tom. "Do you not remember the day I'm talking about? It was before the war, so quite long ago now."

"I do. It's just . . . I remember that event differently than you do."

"How so?"

Tom scratched his head. "There's no reason to retread all of that—your point about me and my equally rabble-rousing wife is well taken."

But now Matthew was curious. "What do you remember about that day that I don't?"

"Well . . . you're right about the melee leading to Sybil's fall, but they way it started . . . um, I won't deny that the pack of men came in gun's blazing, so to speak, but . . . you, well, you riled them up. We might have gotten away free if not for that. Then, of course, everyone sought to blame _me_. Had Sybil been a different sort of person—or if her injury had been such that she remained unconscious that first night—I'd have lost my job even though I didn't do any shoving."

"So you think that was all _my_ fault?" Matthew said, stopping his walk to look Tom square in the face.

Tom sighed, getting a bit exasperated. "It was a terrible situation to be in, and Sybil herself would acknowledge now that it was foolish to go, so I'm not assigning blame so much as acknowledging that I was annoyed with you at the time."

Matthew started walking again. "What did I do, exactly?"

"You stepped up to a man and stoked a fire that was already well lit. It's possible something might have happened anyway and, certainly, you didn't know that when you ducked his punch, his fist would strike Sybil."

"I hardly remember it—all I remember is thinking that we needed to keep the men at bay. I thought you foolish for taking her before I knew she tricked you into it, but Mary and I spoke up for you, too, you know."

Tom smiled. "I appreciate it, but it's a servant's lot to assume blame for just about everything, so if I had been sacked I'd not have thought it a greater injustice than the system as a whole—and it would have been Sybil's fault more than yours."

"Well, I won't get in the middle of _that_ ," Matthew said laughing lightly. After a moment's reflection, he added, "It's a bit disturbing to think that even people I consider as well meaning as our family could still be susceptible to making such a misjudgment. Obviously, nothing came of it, but your life would have been affected negatively if it had worked out differently."

Tom shrugged. "The system corrupts—even the kindest, fairest people are susceptible to it, and I include you in that. I feel very uncomfortable playing such a part in it as I am as agent, but if I may serve as the socialist devil shoulder as you make decisions, then that will assuage my conscience."

Matthew laughed. "I try to keep you on straight and narrow as well."

"Me?"

"You're not a servant anymore, Tom, so therefore as susceptible to corruption as I am. And don't forget that I wasn't born like this either. I won't pretend to have been as disadvantaged as you perhaps were, but I'm different from Mary just like you are from Sybil. It'll be our children who meet in the middle."

Tom laughed. "I have a feeling Mary isn't going to give much when it comes to how her children are raised—especially when an heir comes along."

"I think you are right," Matthew said, "and because we're away from our wives, I'll say that I look forward to being the parent who lets the children get their pants muddy once in a while."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it's not obvious from this chapter, I am of the opinion that Matthew is the unwitting catalyst of the fight in which Sybil is injured. If you watch the scene, as soon as the "hooligans" arrive and come to where Tom, Sybil and Matthew are, Tom tries to talk them down, but Matthew gets all up in one dude's face ("My problem is you!"), so the dude goes for a punch and when Matthew dodges, Sybil takes the brunt. He doesn't fire the shot, but he loads the gun, so to speak. It always struck me as funny that the Crawleys all treat Matthew as the hero even though what happens to Sybil might not have happened if it weren't for him, and I'd always wanted to address that in fic.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter finishes out S3, joining the show action again with a big time jump to the trip to Scotland.
> 
> The Christmas special was when Edna first made her entrance and tried to seduce Tom. As Sybil is alive, she is a nonfactor and is not mentioned.
> 
> On the show, Tom doesn't go to Scotland because he is not invited. In this case, I think Susan would still not want him and Sybil there, but it would be harder to snub them both. So while they are included in the family invitation, they choose not to go for reasons that become clear in the update.
> 
> Lastly, as you remember, in this universe, Tom and Sybil agree to stay for a year so that Tom can help Matthew get used to running the estate with an agent he trusts. That year is now up, and as you'll see in this chapter, Sybil and Tom have begun discussing what they will do next.
> 
> Regarding Mary's pregnancy, if you don't remember, she goes to Scotland while eight months pregnant, begins to feel the early stages of labor and travels back to Downton to deliver. This chapter begins with the family's departure and ends with the news of Mary's return.

 

**September 1921**

"We can't possibly chuck now," a very pregnant Mary said to Matthew looking at his reflection on her vanity mirror as Anna helped her finish dressing for their train journey later that morning. "We couldn't be so rude."

Matthew sighed, seeing that he was going to end up on the losing end of this argument. Mary was determined to make the trip to Scotland with the family, regardless of his countless entreaties this week that the two of them stay behind with Tom and Sybil.

"Why don't I go on my own?" He said, knowing that alternative was even more unappealing to her.

"Darling, this isn't 1850," Mary said with a measure of exasperation in her voice. "No one expects me to hide indoors until the baby is born."

"Of course not . . . but we wouldn't be alone here. Sybil and Tom are not going either."

"Because they want some time alone," Mary reminded him. "And anyway, you know they're going to Liverpool to see Tom's brother."

Matthew's shoulders drooped in defeat. "Well, all right, if you're certain. But if you change your mind at any point and want to come home, just tell me."

Mary smiled as Matthew turned to go.

Once the door closed behind him, Anna stepped back, having finished her task and said, "I hope you know what you're doing."

" _Et tu, Brute?_ "

Anna rolled her eyes good-naturedly, but before she could offer a retort, the door opened revealing Sybil.

"Are you coming down for breakfast?" Sybil asked Mary, stepping into the room.

"I'll be going and make sure everything's ready and loaded for the train," Anna said, excusing herself and leaving the sisters alone.

"Yes, I'm just on my way now. It's Matthew's fault I'm late."

Sybil smiled. "Still trying to convince you to stay?"

Mary nodded. "I do appreciate his concern, but it's getting a bit tiresome. You traveled here from Ireland on your own when you were nearly at full term and Tom trusted you to do it! What's Matthew so worried about?"

"Well, in fairness, Matthew saw me have a very difficult time with it, and he wants to make sure we're prepared if you have any trouble as I did."

"So it's your fault," Mary said wryly.

"I suppose—and while I'm not saying you should stay, do take it easy please."

Mary smiled. "Do you really think I need reminding?"

"You're going to a ball you've loved since you were a child, and you wouldn't sit down all night if it were up to you—of course, you need reminding."

Mary laughed. "I'll be fine. Now, let's go down before Matthew convinces everyone else to gang up on me."

As they walked down the stairs, Mary looked at Sybil from the side of her eyes for a moment before saying, quietly, "You know, if you're so concerned with my state, you could come with us and keep an eye on me. I dare say that would assuage everyone. You used to love the Ghillies Ball too."

"Never as much of you," Sybil's replied. After moment, she added, "It was difficult telling Kieran that we would not take him up on his offer to help us. _Very_ difficult. Just because we chose to live here for a while, doesn't mean we chose to turn away from that side of our family entirely. You couldn't understand how much Tom has given up in staying here—I want him to feel still connected to those we left behind."

"Well," Mary said with a resigned sigh, "when you put it that way, I suppose it _would_ be unseemly to begrudge Tom's brother a few days when we got to keep you."

"Thank you," Sybil said with a smile. "Besides, I don't want to subject Tom to Susan if I can help it."

Just as they arrived at the dining room for breakfast, Mary said, "I have no argument for that."

* * *

After the family's departure, Sybil and Sybbie joined Tom as he made a drive around the estate to do some business with the farmers. That completed, the family of three had a quiet picnic in one of the solitary corners of the grounds.

"It'll be odd having the house to ourselves," Sybil said, after they'd eaten their packed lunch and were merely sitting on the grass, enjoying the scenery and one another.

Tom was lying down on the grass, with his jacket bunched up and serving as a pillow, and making funny faces at Sybbie, who sat on his chest. "Your father is probably having Carson telegram daily reports up to Scotland to make sure we don't burn the place down."

Sybil smiled. "I told Mrs. Hughes this morning that Carson needn't ring the gong for us as we wouldn't be dressing for dinner while everyone was gone. She snickered a bit picturing his reaction."

"We could suggest that we join the servants for dinner so Mrs. Patmore doesn't have to bother with two meals?" Tom said, a bit of a cheeky smile on his face.

Sybil laughed. "I don't want to kill the poor man of a heart attack."

"We could go see the agents' house and start moving our things in," Tom offered tentatively.

"We could," Sybil said with a smile.

"Or, better yet, start making inquiries in London. It _has_ been a year Sybil. That's as long as we said we'd stay."

"I know. And believe me I'm growing as anxious as you to be done with everything living in this house entails."

"But you don't want to move just yet," Tom said, completing the thought he knew she didn't want to vocalize.

"It's not that," Sybil said. "I just want to wait until Mary's delivered, and she and the baby are well settled."

Tom smirked. "You know that child will have more minders than all the children in the village put together."

Sybil laughed. "You're probably right, but even so. I just want to make sure she comes through it."

Tom moved Sybbie and sat up to better look Sybil in the eye. "You know, love, you've been telling everyone to let Mary be because she is going to be perfectly fine and that the only reason they're worried is that their memories of you and the terrible time you had with childbirth are still fresh in their minds. But you're doing the same thing."

"I know, and I do trust Dr. Clarkson—and this time Isobel will be there from the first. I just . . . well, I suppose I keep thinking of my own experience and not being able to go back and fix it, I put all that energy in thinking of hers because . . ."

"Because?"

Sybil sighed. "Because if it goes well for her than maybe . . . maybe our next will not be so difficult. Maybe mama won't keep making disapproving faces when I mention having a second child."

"Is that what this is about?" Tom asked surprised.

Sybil took Sybbie from his arms and shrugged. "I am genuinely concerned for Mary, but I can't deny that I want to be reassured as well—as illogical as it is to associate what will happen to her with what might happen to me in the future. I just need to be reminded that it goes smoothly most of the time, so that the fear will subside."

Tom shifted so that he was right next to her and pulled her into his arms. "First, I am never going to let anything happen to you."

"Tom, you can't—"

"I struck your father so I could take you to the hospital, Sybil. I think that well proves that I will go to all manner of lengths to ensure you are cared for if and when we have another child."

Sybil couldn't help but smile at this.

"Second," Tom continued, "we don't have to have another child. I have no expectations in that regard—I've told you as much—so don't pressure yourself for something, especially if it worries you so."

"I do want another, though," Sybil said.

"Well, then, we'll think about that when the child is on his or her way and not a moment before."

Sybil smiled and leaned over to kiss him. "Still, I do want to stay at Downton until Mary has delivered. Is that all right?"

Tom smiled and leaned in for another kiss. "Of course."

* * *

**Liverpool, later that week**

"This is much better than what your Mr. Carson keeps, if you don't mind me saying," Kieran said with a laugh, as he lifted his glass of beer to toast with his brother and sister-in-law.

"It's so rare that he serves it," Tom said, "it's likely been in his stores since the last century. I doubt it was any good."

"It wasn't," Kieran confirmed.

"Well, more the fool you for asking for it," Tom said.

Sybil smiled seeing the two brothers banter back and forth. This was their second night in Liverpool and they'd enjoyed themselves immensely. Tom had spent the day working with Kieran in the garage downstairs, while Sybil explored the neighborhood with Sybbie in a borrowed pram. She'd been thinking since they'd arrived, that just because Tom hadn't taken Kieran's offer at the time he'd proffered it, didn't mean they couldn't consider Liverpool as a home in some future, now that the year they'd promised Mary and Matthew was over and once Mary's baby was settled at home. Already she felt like this was a viable option they could discuss once they returned to Downton at the end of the week.

With the dinner dishes washed and put away already, Kieran opened another two bottles for himself and Tom, Sybil preferring to stop at one. He'd just poured them out when they heard a tapping noise. Someone was throwing stones up at one of the flat's windows.

"What in God's name?" Kieran said, walking over to the window overlooking the street. Tom and Sybil looked at each other, curious as to what or who it could be at this time of night. A strange sense of dread came over them both.

Seeing someone below, Kieran opened the window. "What do you think you are doing?"

It was a young man, no more than 16 years of age, holding a piece of paper in his hand. "Pardon me, Mr. Branson," the boy called up, "but a telegram's come for you. My father thought you should get it straight away. Seeing as it came in so late, it's probably urgent."

"Fine," Kieran replied. "I'll be right down." Pulling his head back into the apartment, Kieran said, "Who would be sending _me_ a telegram? And at this hour."

But before Kieran even finished closing the window, Tom had already taken three steps to the door. The news, he and Sybil both feared, was not for Kieran.

Kieran was right behind Tom as the two rushed down the stairs to greet the young man and take the telegram for him. Indeed it was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Tom Branson, in care of Mr. Kieran Branson.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Tom ran back up to show it to Sybil.

"Well?" Kieran asked.

"It's Mary," Sybil said, unable to hide the concern from her voice as she looked the message over. "She's going to be on the first train back to Downton tomorrow. She thinks the baby may be coming early."

Knowing what her next request would be, Tom turned to his brother and said, "Well, brother, I'm afraid that's enough beer for tonight, if I'm to have my wits about me for travel in the morning."

Kieran laughed. "I see it only took a year for them to knock the Branson out of ya."

Sybil smiled. "Don't worry, darling," she said to Tom. "You enjoy your last night with Kieran. I'll go pack our things. Anyway, she won't be back until the afternoon, even if she leaves first thing."

"Let's toast to the child, then," Tom said, taking his glass in one hand and Sybil's hand in the other.

Tom and Kieran said something in Irish, which made Sybil smile. As the brothers sat back down at the table, Sybil went back to the bedroom, where Sybbie was fast asleep in the middle of the bed. She sat on the edge of the bed watching the gentle rise and fall of her daughter's chest for several minutes, before hearing Tom coming in.

"I just came to see if you were all right," he said, sitting next to her.

"I'm just worried is all."

"She'll be fine," Tom said.

"I know," Sybil said, though her voice betrayed that she wouldn't be convinced until she saw her sister for herself. With a chuckle she added, "She'll have to face an endless stream of 'I told you so' from papa, poor dear."

Tom smiled. "Perhaps, but your father's so sentimental, I'm sure one look at the babe and he'll have forgotten all about it."

Something in Tom's words gave Sybil pause, and Tom noticed.

"Is there something else, darling?" he asked.

"Tom," she said, taking his hand, "I know Mary will come through it, but in case of . . . well, mama would be quite emotional, and papa, for all he may say about stiff upper lips, would be a mess as well."

"What are you saying?"

"If something does happen, you and I will have to be the strong ones."

Tom leaned in and kissed her on the forehead, realizing how true her words were. "You're probably right, but it doesn't matter because Mary will be fine."

Sybil nodded again, reassuring herself that he was right.

Tom smiled again. "I think that so far as Robert thinks, the worst that may happen is that Mary will not last the night and he'll have two grandchildren—one Scot, one Irish—and no Englishmen to show for it."

Sybil laughed in spite of herself. "If only the gods could be so kind."


	14. Chapter 14

Tom, Sybil and Sybbie arrived back at Downton Abbey just after noon the following day. That morning in Liverpool, Kieran had suggested that instead of the train, they take an old but reliable motor whose engine he'd rebuilt in his spare time but had little use for now that it was in proper working order. Having to depend on Pratt and Matthew to get around the estate, Tom had been considering buying his own car. Still, he was hesitant to take such a gift from Kieran, even when the latter insisted he'd make good use of it living in the country. What finally convinced him was Sybil pointing out that having their own motor would allow them to more easily consider moving away from Downton, even as far as Ripon, while Tom was still working as the estate agent.

By motor, the journey was longer, and with a few more stops and starts. Even so, once they were back at the house and Sybbie settled in with Lily, Sybil wanted to go directly to the train station to await Mary's arrival without any thought to getting any rest. Tom insisted that they stay and at least have a decent lunch, reminding Sybil that if the birth really were imminent, she would need her strength to help Mary get through it. Word was sent down to Mrs. Patmore to prepare a simple but hearty luncheon for them in preparation for what was likely to be a long afternoon and an even longer night ahead. They were only just finishing, about two hours later, when news came from the train station: Mary and Anna had arrived safely, but Mary had requested to go directly to the hospital.

Both Tom and Sybil bolted up from their seats.

"Get what you need," Tom said, "I'll get the car ready."

Sybil nodded then ran upstairs for her nursing uniform and a small carrying case. Then, she went over to Mary's room and grabbed a nightshirt, a dressing gown and a handful of toiletries. Once everything was packed, she ran downstairs and out the door. Tom was waiting in the car, already running, while Carson held the door open for her.

"We'll telephone with news once we know the situation," she said to the butler as he closed the door for her. "And it's likely the rest of the family will be on their way back now."

"Not to worry, milady, we'll have the house ready for their return," Carson replied.

Once on the road to the village, Tom asked, "Will there be a problem with an early arrival?"

Sybil thought for a moment. "I can't say I'm expert in this area, but it's really only a matter of weeks. Any earlier and I'd be more worried, but I think so long as there are no problems like I had, everything will be all right."

"She really shouldn't have gone," Tom said with a chuckle.

Sybil sighed. He was right, and Sybil couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for not insisting to Mary that she stay. Mary likely would have gone anyway, but she might have at least given the question due consideration had it been Sybil, a nurse and someone who'd experienced birth recently, who was doing the insisting.

"No sense in belaboring that point with her," Sybil said finally. "She likely knows it."

And indeed, when Tom and Sybil arrived at the hospital, only minutes after Mary, who was still in the entrance hall with Anna waiting for the duty nurse to direct her to a room, the first words out of Mary's mouth were, "I know, I know. You don't have to say I told you so."

Sybil smiled. "I would never."

"Lady Mary, we're ready."

The group turned to see Dr. Clarkson gesturing for them to follow him down the hall.

Before she did so, Mary looked at Tom. "We left the luggage at the train station."

"I'll get it—don't worry," he said, even before she'd asked the question.

"I have some things from the house," Sybil said, "but likely not everything you need."

"Why don't I go with him," Anna said. "I can unpack and bring back what's needed for yourself and the baby."

"And call Duneagle," Mary said.

"Oh, goodness, do they not know?" Sybil exclaimed.

"We sent word from the train station, just after we called the house, but I'd like to know for sure that Matthew's on his way.

"I'll call say you're back safe but that they should come back as well—if they haven't left already," Tom said.

"Pardon me," Dr. Clarkson interrupted. "I know plans have to be made, but if the child really is on his way, we should make Lady Mary as comfortable as possible as soon as possible."

"Quite right," Sybil said. "Go on, darling," she added, gesturing to Tom that he be on his way.

With the help of Sybil and another nurse, Mary was settled into a small bed in a private room, at the very end of the hospital, away from the main ward where she'd have ample privacy and quiet. Sybil went into the nurses' quarters to change into her uniform, and when she'd returned, Dr. Clarkson had just finished his examination.

"And your pain, how often are you feeling it now?"

Mary thought for a moment. "Every quarter of an hour, perhaps? I felt it an hour or so before we pulled into the train station. It's what prompted me to come here."

Dr. Clarkson nodded. "Well, it's still early on. If you wanted to go home—"

"No," Mary said firmly. "Unless you're prepared to tell me that the baby is not going to be born this week, I won't leave the hospital without him—or her."

Noticing Sybil behind him, Dr. Clarkson looked back and noticed the sisters exchange a look. He knew what they'd gone through the last time, and saw the extra care they wanted to take this time around. He, of all people, wouldn't argue. "Well, I can't promise that it'll be today, but tomorrow surely. You can certainly stay as long as you need."

"Thank you, Dr. Clarkson," Sybil said stepping forward. "I'll stay with her. You won't need to alter staffing for the hospital for the time being."

"Thank you, Nurse Branson." Turning to Mary, he added, "I can't imagine you'll be in better hands."

Mary smiled. "I quite agree."

Once he was gone from the room, Sybil came over and sat on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Anxious to have it done with now," Mary said. "But apparently, I'm just at the start. He did say that nothing looked out of order, not like . . ."

"Not like me?"

Mary nodded, as if afraid to say something more.

Sybil took Mary's hand. "Darling, I would never wish what I went through on you or anyone. You _should_ hope that it all goes smoothly—I certainly hope as much for you. So you needn't feel guilty if it does."

"I just wish I'd known more—I would have spoken up, supported mama and Tom, so things wouldn't have gotten so dire."

"No sense in dwelling on it now. Just focus on keeping calm and resting. You'll need all your strength soon enough."

"Will you be here with me tonight?" Mary asked.

Sybil smiled. "Where else would I be?"

* * *

Mary had a fitful night's sleep, with the pains growing closer together and growing in intensity. She was tired but in good spirits and seemed ready for what came next in every respect save for Matthew's absence.

Sybil had remained with her all night, taking only a small rest in the early hours of the morning, when Isobel, who had come to see Mary the previous afternoon after being alerted as to her early return, came to check on her again and offered to give Sybil a reprieve. Sybil only slept for several hours, but by the time she woke up, she could see that the baby's arrival would happen likely no later than that very afternoon.

After another check from Dr. Clarkson, Sybil called the house to let Tom know and to summon Anna, so would help keep Mary comfortable while Sybil assisted Dr. Clarkson. With the family also due to arrive in short order, the house was a bit frantic as Tom and Anna gathered what they needed to go.

"Do you have everything?" Tom asked her as she put on her hat and coat.

"I think so," Anna replied.

"If there's anything else, anything at all, just telephone," Carson said.

"According to the doctor, there's nothing to worry about," Tom said, as he watched the old butler fretting as if he'd been asked to prepare the house for the royal family.

"Well, of course I worry," Carson said, holding his hands together in an effort not to wring them. "After Lady Sybil how could I not worry?"

Tom smiled. "Thankfully, Sir Phillip Tapsell is not on the premises this time and Lady Mary knew herself well enough to go to the hospital from the first."

Carson's brow furrowed slightly, never one to be entirely comfortable when Tom so liberally questioned Robert's judgment, but offered a small smile just the same, suggesting his concerns had been mollified somewhat. "Should I meet the others off the train?"

"I can do that," Tom said. "Between myself and Mr. Pratt, we should have room enough to get everyone home."

"You should take Mr. Matthew's car to the station and have the others brought here," Anna said. "He said as much last night when he telephoned. He can drive himself to the hospital and come back with the news when he's ready."

"Of course," Tom said with a smile. "I'll drive it there and stay with Pratt in case anything else is needed."

Carson nodded. "Yes. Good, good. Very good. And Anna, thank you."

Anna smiled and exchanged knowing glances with Tom. It was only after they turned to go that Carson remembered himself and added, "You too, Mr. Branson."

* * *

As predicted, Mary's delivery went off without complication. For Mary, after hours of waiting and waiting, once it was time, it all went by rather quickly.

She gave birth to a son.

He weighed a healthy seven pounds, with bright blue eyes and with features that suggested, even only hours after his birth that he would grow up to be the spitting image of his father.

Mary, being her father's daughter, was immediately pleased that she had borne an heir on her first try. Sybil, being Sybil, would have rolled her eyes at the sentiment, but she was too happy for her sister to offer any cynicism regarding inheritance, primogeniture, or any of the other silly notions that aristocrats cling to.

"He's perfect," Sybil said, as she handed the tiny creature, cleaned and bundled into a blanket, to Mary.

Mary had nothing to say for several minutes, overwhelmed as she was, physically and emotionally. Her eyes clouded over with tears, but there was no crying, only relief and love. Sybil smiled on seeing just how emotional her usually stoic, self-possessed sister allowed herself to be in that moment.

"Is he really all right? There's nothing wrong?" Mary squeaked out without taking her eyes off her son.

"Like I said, he's perfect," Sybil answered.

"He is, isn't he?" Mary said, her lips finally curving into a smile.

"Do you know what you'll call him?"

"Not yet," Mary replied. "We haven't settled on one. I liked Alistair, after grandpapa. Matthew was partial to George, though so far as British monarchs go, I think we can do better than that."

"Well, Matthew should be here soon enough, and you can decide. In the mean time, Isobel has spoken with Carson, so they'll have the news at home when they arrive. A wonderful homecoming, it will be, wouldn't you agree?"

But Mary was too taken with the bundle in her arms to say anything in response. Sybil could only smile, wondering briefly what it might have been like for her to contemplate her daughter in her first moments of life, not days after the fact, as had been her experience. Her mind didn't linger there, however. Given all that might have gone wrong for her, it was enough that she and her daughter had both come through it.

As it turned out, Matthew missed his son's birth only by a little over an hour. On the train back to Downton, Matthew felt deep regret over having let Mary talk him into staying at Duneagle without her—he regretted it just as deeply she regretted having gone to Scotland in the first place. But when husband and wife saw each other again and together beheld what they had made all was forgiven.

When Matthew came into the room, saying, "Can this hot dusty traveler come in?" Sybil smiled and left them alone without a word. Outside of the room, having closed the door behind her, she finally allowed the tears she had been holding back to wet her cheeks, tears of joy, relief and exhaustion all mixed together.

"You did well, Nurse Branson."

Hearing Dr. Clarkson, Sybil quickly wiped her cheeks, embarrassed that her boss caught her in such an emotional moment. Dr. Clarkson only chuckled in response.

"No need to hide your tears. It was your sister, after all, but like I said you did well."

"Thank you."

"I suspect she'll be well enough to go home in another day or two," Dr. Clarkson asked.

"I know this is how it goes under normal circumstances," Sybil said, "but I can't help but think of my own experience, which was so different . . . I don't know if I ever thanked you properly."

Dr. Clarkson smiled. "I was only doing my duty as a doctor."

"You saved my life," Sybil said quietly. "I hope I do my duty half as well."

"You do—you're an asset to the hospital. Being married and having children will make continuing your work as a nurse difficult, but you do the work well. You'll save your share of patients if you give yourself the chance to fulfill your potential."

Sybil was so taken aback by Dr. Clarkson's words, she didn't say anything as he smiled again before leaving her alone once more outside of Mary's room. She realized that even after all they'd been through together as doctor and nurse during the war, Sybil never considered Dr. Clarkson as anything other than her doctor. Now, she knew he was a mentor as well.

* * *

"These things are always rather nerve-racking, as you all well know. But all's well that ends well, and it won't be long before you'll be able to say hello to your very own grandson."

Isobel's words made everyone smile. The family, including Tom, who'd come back with them from the train station, was gathered in the library, where Isobel had met them with the happy news upon their arrival. She'd left the hospital shortly after the birth once it was clear that both Mary and the baby would be in no danger. Everyone was anxious to see the child, but Isobel, having been present for his birth, wanted to see her own son and see on his face the happiness of parenthood, knowing he'd be as wonderful a father as her husband had been to him.

"My grandson? Oh, my dear, how sweet and miraculous that sounds!" Robert said.

"Our grandson," Cora repeated. "And, yes, it does sound miraculous."

"Life is strange, isn't it?" Robert said.

"In so many different ways," Violet responded.

"No, I mean, I think of all the uncertainty between Matthew and Mary," Robert said, "or when the money was lost, and everything was so dark. Yet now here we are with two healthy heirs an estate in good order, and I wonder what I've done to deserve it."

Violet nodded, "I agree. But then we don't always get our just deserts."

Tom couldn't help but smirk. V _ery few get their just deserts_ , he thought, _the aristocracy sees to that_. He might have said it out loud on a different day, but even he could see that it would merely dampen the mood on such a joyous occasion.

The birth of his own child had not been so sunny—instead, fraught with worry over whether Sybil would survive, whether the child herself, taken from her mother in so unorthodox a fashion, would survive. But they did. Whether Robert considered Sybbie's birth "sweet and miraculous" was not something that concerned Tom. He'd long gotten used to the fact that in this house, in this kind of life, some things (like male heirs) mattered more than others (like daughters of runaway marriages). His wife and daughter were alive and thriving. For Tom, that was its own miracle. And if none but he celebrated it as such then so be it.

"I am rather anxious to hear from Matthew as to how he found Mary," Robert said looking at his watch. "When do you suppose he'll be back?"

"Can you really blame him?" Cora said with a smile. "You know how sorry he was to have missed the birth. I'm sure the last thing he wants is to be pulled away from them now."

"It would be nice to hear all the details," Robert said.

"We'll learn everything in due time," Cora responded.

"She's come through it, which is what matters," Violet said. "And there were no fisticuffs," she added with a look at Tom, who couldn't help but snicker.

Seeing how anxious everyone seemed, he said, "Perhaps I'll go to the hospital. I'm sure Sybil would like a change of clothes. I'm sure she would be happy to give a full report."

"Thank you, Tom, that's very thoughtful," Cora said.

With a nod Tom stood and left the room. He walked down to the garage to fetch his car and set off.

 _His_ car.

It would be long before he could repay Kieran for it, but Tom was very grateful for having it, for the freedom that it gave him and for the role it would play in the manner in which the rest of that fateful day's events would unfold.

Because without that old rebuilt motor, he'd not have offered to go to the hospital. And someone else would have had to see what he had to see.

A young man standing by the side of the road waving his hat and motioning Tom to pull over.

Another man, this one older, portly, yelling from the bottom of a steep embankment.

Wreckage that became more and more familiar the nearer Tom got to it.

He was running at a sprint as soon as he recognized it, but there was nothing waiting for him at the bottom.

Only the lifeless body of his friend, newly a father, a future earl.

Matthew.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of a series of chapters that will touch on everyone's response to Matthew's death and how the family begins to mourn and then heal. Over the course of these chapters, you'll see everyone's reaction to the news. We begin with Robert and Tom. The next chapter will be one day, then one week and so on until we arrive where S4 starts. These are not happy times for the family, but they will start to move on. I can't say whether you will "enjoy" these chapters, but I hope at least that the emotion feels honest and earned.

 

**One Hour**

At some point in the year that followed Matthew's death, Sybil would explain to Tom that when human bodies are put through major physical trauma, in the moment that it happens, chemicals in the brain hinder the affected individual's ability to remember, so that if we survive, we carry no memory of the worst of it. Tom would be convinced that the same was true of emotional trauma because looking back on that fateful day, he would remember standing on the side of the road looking down at the wreckage the moment just before he recognized it and he'd remember sitting in Carson's pantry alone waiting for Robert, wondering how he would tell his father-in-law the worst news of his life.

What was lost in the recesses of Tom's mind was not much, barely more than an hour. After he had arrived at the scene and realized nothing could be done for Matthew, he took several steps away to steady himself and try to contain the shock of grief that could have consumed him in that moment if he'd let it.

_If something does happen, you and I will have to be the strong ones._

Sybil's words in Liverpool came back to him like a punch in the gut. He took several deep breaths, then slowly walked back to the wreckage, taking care not to look at Matthew again, if he could help it.

"Do-do you know him?" the older of the two men who had flagged him down asked.

Tom nodded, still unable to form words.

"I-I didn't . . . he came out of nowhere. We weren't going all that fast. He neither, I reckon . . . on the road one minute . . ."

The man didn't complete the thought. He was holding his hat in his hands, fidgeting with it in a way that suggested his conscience was weighing on him. He rubbed his neck, clearly trying to calm unsteady nerves. He looked a bit shell-shocked, and Tom could see from merely looking at him that there was no fault to be found his actions. It had been a tragic accident and the tragedy was written all over his face. The family obviously would grieve Matthew, but only this gentleman—he would remain unknown to them—would be burdened with the knowledge that he unwittingly took a young man's life.

"I sent my other boy to the hospital to get help," he said finally.

The word "hospital" finally snapped Tom into action.

_Mary has to be told, and soon._

"When was that?" Tom asked. "How long ago?"

"Ten minutes, perhaps. He set off running, so I reckon he's likely getting there soon."

Tom considered his options. He could wait until someone arrived from the hospital, but there was no telling how long that would take, who it would be or whether the person would come equipped to transport Matthew. He could go back to the house to get Robert now or he could go to the hospital himself and alert Dr. Clarkson—not just about who it was but of the need to keep the news from making its way around the ward to Mary. Tom was about to settle on going to the hospital until he realized that Sybil was there as well, not confined to a bed as Mary, and therefore not as easily avoided. If she saw him there, she'd immediately know that something was wrong and he'd have no choice but to tell her, and she would likewise have no choice but to tell Mary. Tom would save Sybil from having to be the bearer of such news to her sister, if he could help it.

And anyway, amid the million thoughts and emotions Tom felt like he was drowning in, he was sure of one thing: Mary needed to hear the news from her father.

He had to go back to Downton now and hope against hope that he and Robert could make it to the hospital before Matthew's body did.

 _Matthew's body_.

Tom felt as if the ground was falling away beneath him, but once again, he forced any emotion from bubbling up and spoke as clearly as he could.

"What are your names?"

The older man responded, taking a tentative step forward. "Corrigan. Dan Corrigan. This is my boy Jeffrey. Eddie's my other boy. He's the one I sent to the hospital."

"Are you from here in the village?"

"We are, sir."

Tom swallowed the lump in his throat. "Mr. Corrigan, I want you to listen very carefully, but please don't be alarmed."

Mr. Corrigan nodded solemnly. His eyes looked slightly more focused than they'd been even minutes ago, as if the shock was beginning to wear off.

"This man here is Mr. Matthew Crawley, son-in-law and heir to Lord Grantham."

Mr. Corrigan gasped.

Tom continued. "It's very likely that he'll be recognized at the hospital, and as soon as it's known that he passed, the news will spread like wildfire in the village. Before anything like that happens, I need to tell his lordship. It's imperative that nothing happens with Mr. Crawley here until I return, do you understand?"

Tom looked up to see Mr. Corrigan looking down at Matthew's face. "Mr. Corrigan?"

The man shook his head, as if trying to find his bearings again. "Yes—rather, yes, I mean, I do understand."

"When your son returns with someone from the hospital—"

"Mr. Crawley won't be disturbed until you're here," Mr. Corrigan finished for Tom. "I'll see to it. I promise."

Tom nodded, and looked around one more time. He was about to climb back up the embankment to his car, when Mr. Corrigan spoke again. "And you are . . . if you don't mind me asking?"

"Tom Branson. I'm—"

"The land agent," Mr. Corrigan again, finished for him. "Of course, I should have known."

"Well, I should be off," Tom said, "I'll be back as soon as possible."

Mr. Corrigan nodded, then said quietly. "My condolences."

Tom didn't know how to respond, so he just went on his way.

* * *

The first person Tom saw after he stepped inside the servants' hall was Mrs. Hughes, who recognized almost immediately that something was amiss. Before she had a chance to ask him what was wrong, however, he asked, more gruffly than he could help, "Where's Mr. Carson?"

The butler materialized as if out of nowhere behind Tom. "Mr. Branson?" he said, with the same thinly veiled judgment in his tone that Carson reserved exclusively for Tom.

"We need to speak in your office," Tom said, not waiting for Carson to respond before walking past him on his way.

Carson and Mrs. Hughes exchanged glances, his indignant, hers one of deep concern. Whatever it was that had Tom acting this way, she knew it had to be serious, so she followed Carson as he stepped into his pantry behind Tom. They were both barely in the room when Tom said, "I need you to go up to the library right now and get Lord Grantham to come down here without raising the alarm of anyone—and without letting them know I'm here."

Carson looked at Tom as if he'd lost his mind. "Mr. Branson, what in the world could—"

"Mr. Carson," Tom pressed. "I can't explain why I need you to do this—not until I've said the words to him first. You _must_ fetch his lordship and bring him here now!"

Carson's chest puffed up in indignation. "I'm sure I don't—"

This time it wasn't Tom who interrupted, but Mrs. Hughes. "Mr. Carson, do as Mr. Branson says. I reckon he'd not be setting you with the task if it weren't absolutely urgent."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes," Tom said quietly. Looking at Carson again, he added, "Please do this now. You will understand when you know, but he must know first." Tom's voice was bereft of the decisiveness with which he'd spoken only moments ago. It was broken, scared.

Carson looked Tom up and down. There was a hollowness in his eyes and his shoulders drooped.

"Is-is Lady Mary all right? The child?"

Tom nodded. "This is not to do with them, but no less urgent that his lordship hear. Please, sir."

Carson nodded and headed up. Tom turned and sank into one of the chairs facing Carson's desk. Mrs. Hughes watched him for a moment. She remembered seeing him days after Sybil's troubled birth, but his comportment now was altogether different. He looked defeated. She thought of saying something or offering to bring him tea, but thought better of it and moved to leave him alone in the room until Carson returned. The door was almost completely closed behind her when she heard him say, "We must prepare, Mrs. Hughes. Long, difficult weeks lie ahead."

He looked at her briefly before looking back down at his hands and before she finally shut the door and left him with his thoughts.

_What will I say?_

_How do I tell him?_

_How will he react?_

It might have been hours that Tom sat there, but he couldn't know. He'd lost all sense of time. An hour ago, he'd set off for the hospital to fetch Sybil, where she'd helped see her sister through childbirth—the birth of a son and heir to the Grantham estate. Upon arrival at the train station another hour before that, his friend had been beaming with the happiness that only fatherhood can bring. All of it might well have been years ago. The world was different now. Whatever happened, Tom knew that anything that he might have thought about his future and Sybil's and their daughter's—all of that was gone, replaced by a new dark reality.

"Tom?"

Robert's anxious voice startled Tom out of his reverie.

"What is the meaning of this? Why are you down here? I thought—"

"Sit down, please, Robert," Tom said, standing and gesturing to the chair he'd just been sitting in.

"What's going on? Tell me at once."

Tom noticed that Carson remained at the door, so he walked over and with an apologetic look, closed the door so it was just him and his father-in-law in the tiny room.

"Tom, what in heaven's name is going on?"

Tom took a deep breath. "I sincerely regret what I am about to tell you," he began. Turning he saw that Robert was still standing. There was no point in insisting that he sit, so Tom went on. "On my way to the hospital I came upon a motor accident on the road to the village. I'm afraid . . . I'm afraid it was Matthew's car."

"What? Is he all right? Does he need help? Did you take him to the hospital?"

Tom closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry, Robert."

Robert's heart began to race. _It couldn't be._ "Tom?"

"He's died. Matthew is dead." As soon as the words crossed his lips, Tom couldn't contain himself anymore and his face crumpled. "I'm so sorry."

Robert paled. "There must be some mistake."

"I wish there were," Tom sobbed. "I wish I were wrong. I wish I hadn't, but I saw him. He's gone."

"This can't be," Robert said, quietly, shaking his head as if speaking to himself. "It can't be."

Tom brought his hand to his face and willed himself to stop crying.

_You and I have to be the strong ones._

He took a deep breath and said, "We have to go to the hospital."

Robert looked up, realizing what that meant. _Mary._ He leaned on the back of the chair that Tom had offered and just as Tom was about to put his hand on Robert's shoulder, Robert threw the chair across the room. Tom watched helplessly as Robert's back began to shake.

"Is everything all right, milord?" Carson's voice echoed from the other side of the door.

Robert turned to look to the door, and Tom saw the tears flowing quickly, unabated from his eyes. Tom knew this was not the first time Robert had experienced this—though it had happened before his arrival at Downton Abbey, he knew that Matthew was in Robert's life precisely because of another dead heir. Two in that case. Still, this one was a greater blow. Robert was losing, not just an heir, but a son-in-law, the husband of his eldest and most beloved daughter, someone who had grown to become rather like a son. Tom wondered if, for a brief second, Robert might have wished not to have been earl of Grantham in that moment, not to be forced to care for who came after him.

Robert cleared his throat, but his voice when he spoke still came out thick and hoarse. "Give us a minute, Carson."

Robert turned his back to Tom again, and Tom saw him reach for a handkerchief. After he'd gathered himself, he said quietly, "So, is the mother's heart to be broken first or the wife's?"

Robert finally turned to face Tom again and Tom realized that Robert's question was not rhetorical. He was asking Tom his opinion on which of the two unenviable tasks should be done first.

"He needs to be transported to the hospital. Once he's there, he'll be recognized immediately and—"

"And Sybil and Mary will find out," Robert finished with a sigh. "Right then, how do we do this . . . how do we leave undetected?"

Tom thought for a moment. "You walk to the garage and get Pratt to ready the motor. Have Carson send a message upstairs that you were called into town—even if they worry, we'll be back soon enough and they won't question you once they know the reason and why Mary had to be told first. I'll return to the site of the accident and stay with him for the ride to the hospital and meet you there."

Robert nodded. "I should be there to receive him, and once he's . . . well, everything's take care of, then I'll speak to Mary."

Uttering her name broke him down again. He brought his hands to his face again, and Tom had no choice but to step forward and put his hand on his shoulder to calm him down so he could proceed with what needed doing. After another minute Robert was calm again. He took a deep breath and said, "Have Carson and Mrs. Hughes come back in."

Tom moved to open the door and signaled to the two that they come back in, closing the door once they had done so.

"Carson, Mrs. Hughes," Robert began, "I have news that is nothing short of catastrophic. There was a motoring accident about an hour ago and it . . . it took the life of Mr. Crawley."

Mrs. Hughes gasped loudly and brought her hands to her mouth. Carson immediately looked shell shocked. "Can your lordship be sure of this?" he asked.

"I saw him myself," Tom answered for Robert. "I'm afraid he's gone."

Robert gave his two servants a moment for the news to sink in. Then, he spoke, clearly and solemnly, "We are on our way to the hospital to let Lady Mary know first. We'll return as soon as we can, but the ladies upstairs are unaware as yet. I am telling you now so you understand and can begin to prepare. When we return the house will enter into mourning for the foreseeable future. It pains me to say we've been here before. I trust you will do what is necessary."

Carson straightened himself up so as to meet the challenge head on. "Of course, milord."

"No word of it down here or to anyone upstairs until we've returned, is that understood?" Robert pressed.

"Of course, milord," Mrs. Hughes said.

Robert signaled for Tom to follow him and soon the two were on their way. The rest of the servants hall curious, but ultimately unconcerned as to what Lord Grantham was doing in their domain.

"Can it really have happened again, Mrs. Hughes?" Carson said in disbelief once they were alone in his pantry. "On what should have been the happiest of days?"

"So it would seem, Mr. Carson."

"The memories of Mr. James and Mr. Patrick have barely been gone from my mind."

"That may be true," Mrs. Hughes replied, "but I reckon this will be nothing like their loss."

"You don't think so?"

"Oh no, Mr. Carson," she said, "This will be ten times worse."


	16. Chapter 16

**One Day**

Sybil pulled at her neck as she sat up from the thin, barely there mattress on the cot in the nurse's quarters. Her feet bumped into her shoes, on the floor beside the cot, and she absentmindedly put them on.

_Matthew is dead._

The two hours of fitful tossing and turning she'd spent in the small room—at the insistence of the duty nurse, who told her she'd be no help to her sister on no sleep—were not really sleep at all. Her eyes stung with dryness, so she rubbed them with the heels of her hands. She blinked several times and looked at the clock. It was just past 6 a.m. Sybbie would be waking up now. Tom hadn't bothered to convince her to come home after they'd learned the news, accepting that Mary would need her. But Sybil wished she could hug them both now.

_Matthew is dead._

With an uneasy breath she stood, straightened herself up as best she could, took her apron from the hook she'd hung it from the night before and headed out to the nurses' station. She noticed the women gathered look at each other with worry as she approached. _I must look a sight_ , she thought. She didn't care.

_Matthew is dead._

"Is she awake?"

"No," answered one of the nurses. "She's been asleep each time we checked on her. Going on three hours now."

Sybil knew this was a lie. The nurse knew no better, of course, but Sybil imagined that her sister simply closed her eyes whenever anyone stepped into the room and feigned sleep until they left again.

"Has she eaten?"

The same nurse that answered shook her head.

Her fellow nurses at the hospital were good, conscientious women, but Sybil though they likely hadn't done much more than peek their heads into the room for a second before closing the door again. News of the tragedy traveled through the hospital quickly, and tragedy of this magnitude always felt contagious—worse than any disease because it couldn't be treated. No one could tell Lady Mary Crawley when and how she would be well again.

_Matthew is dead._

"Where's the baby?" Sybil asked.

"With the wet nurse," the same nurse answered. "He's quite healthy . . . eating as he should."

Sybil nodded. "Good. Bring him back to Lady Mary's room when he's finished."

"She said she didn't—"

"Just do it."

The nurse exchanged glances with another, then nodded. Sybil didn't care if they thought her mad. Mary needed her son, and he needed her.

Now more than ever.

After a deep breath, Sybil turned and headed down the hall to the private room Mary was in. As she approached the door, she closed her eyes and felt a tear squeeze out and slide down her cheek. She stopped to compose herself at the door, then opened it.

* * *

_Sybil had just closed the door behind her when she heard footsteps coming up the hallway. She face brightened for a moment at the sight of her father and husband._

_"_ _What are you doing here?" she asked. "Can't believe it's really a boy and come to see for yourself, have you?"_

_But the teasing question was only just out of her mouth when Robert stepped into the light and Sybil saw his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, not as if he was crying now, but as if he had been recently. Tom's face was equally solemn. In fact, Tom's eyes were downcast. Sybil turned her head to seek his eyes out, but he just looked away._

_Sybil wondered if something had happened to Violet, so seemingly healthy, yet so advanced in years._

_"_ _What is it?" She asked._

_"_ _Is she awake?" Robert asked._

_Sybil's heart began to race and dread began to fill her. The news was not for her, it seemed, or even for them both, but for Mary._

_"_ _What is it, papa?"_

_"_ _Is she awake? Is the baby with her?"_

_"_ _He's with the nurse. What's wrong!? Please tell me!"_

_Robert and Tom looked at each other, and Tom nodded._

_"_ _Tom?" Sybil asked, looking at her husband expecting to find the usual comfort in his eyes and seeing fear and resignation instead._

_Robert moved to open the door._

_"_ _Papa, please . . . "_

_But Robert ignored Sybil and went in, pushing the door closed behind him._

_Sybil now growing angry turned the knob but felt Tom's hand over hers. She looked into his eyes again._

_He closed his eyes and sighed. The saying of the words wasn't going to get any easier. "Matthew is dead."_

_Sybil shook her head as if shaking the thought away, not accepting what she'd just heard._

_"_ _I'm sorry, love."_

_"_ _But—"_

_"_ _It was a motoring accident, just a few miles from here. I-I saw it."_

_Sybil brought her hands to her face and crumpled into Tom's chest. After a moment, she pulled her arms down and around Tom's waist and the two stood there comforting one another for several minutes before Sybil's grief became concern for her sister on the other side of the door at which she was standing. Abruptly, she pushed Tom away and moved to open the door once again. This time he didn't stop her, and when she did Mary was standing there, on the other side._

_The sisters looked at one another for a long moment before Mary said, "I need to see him."_

* * *

Mary was lying facing away from the door. Sybil watched the rise and fall of torso from the door.

 _She's awake_ , Sybil thought.

Slowly, she put one foot in front of the other to make her way across the room to the other side of the bed.

Mary's eyes were open.

 _She must have known it would be me_ , Sybil thought. Sybil took the fact that Mary wasn't pretending to be sleep as a good sign, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Her eyes looked tired, but they were clear.

_She hasn't cried yet._

Mary didn't turn to look at Sybil but took a deep breath, as if bracing herself.

_She needs to cry._

Sybil opened her mouth to speak but didn't know what to say, so she closed it again. Instead, she leaned forward to take Mary's hand and squeeze it. Mary didn't react. Sybil pulled her hand away.

"I fell asleep for a while," Mary said. Her voice sounded hoarse, emotionless . . . older.

"That's good," Sybil replied, still not knowing what else to say.

"When I woke up, I forgot for a second, and then I remembered. And it was like finding out all over again." Mary finally looked at Sybil. "Do you think that will ever go away? Forgetting when I sleep and then remembering?"

"I don't know."

Mary turned to face the wall again. "I suppose Isobel's been told."

"It's likely by now," Sybil said. "Tom said yesterday they came here to tell you first . . . before her and everyone." Sybil took a deep breath, then spoke again. "George is with his nurse. Apparently, he's feeding very well. . . I-I've asked that he be brought back to you once he's done."

Mary continued to stare forward.

"Mary—"

"Don't."

"Mary, I—"

"Sybil, I can't. If he's doing well, then let him be."

Sybil took a deep breath, finally finding something on which to focus her emotional energy. "Mary, you are his mother."

"I am useless to him, and I don't want to see him."

"You must, and I am going to insist. This is an important time for you and your baby."

Mary closed her eyes. "Sybil, please."

Before Sybil could say more, the door opened and the wet nurse came in holding the baby boy. She was young, barely over twenty, which surprised Sybil, who stood to greet her.

"Here he is, milady," she said, cautiously entering the room. "Has a healthy appetite, he does, and took to it quite natural. Not like my little Abraham. I'll be happy to finally wean _him_."

Sybil smiled, taking the sleeping, snugly swaddled baby from her. "I'm Nurse Branson. Do you need to go home to tend to your son?"

The young woman shook her head. "He's with my mum. I'll help as long as I'm needed. Hard to get any work with a child so, this is really quite a good opportunity if I am needed."

"Of course," Sybil said. "Thank you. I'll ring the house later and have Lady Mary's maid come to make the arrangements with you."

With a small curtsey, the young woman left. Sybil looked down at the baby in her arms.

 _Matthew is dead_.

She ran her finger along his forehead. _I'm sorry you will never know him, but you_ will _know of him. You will remember him. You'll never miss him. I promise._

Sybil blinked the tears out of her eyes and went back to Mary's bedside.

"Mary?"

Eyes still closed, Mary didn't answer.

"Mary."

She shook her head ever so slightly. "No."

"Mary."

"Sybil, I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"No, Sybil. I can't. I won't."

"Mary, so help me, I will pull you out of this bed if I have to."

Mary sat up suddenly and with a look of fury in her eyes unlike Sybil had ever seen. "And what happens after that? What happens after I get out of this bed? I go home. Then what?"

"Mary—"

"Then I have to bury my husband." Mary practically spit the words out. "Then I have to sit in a room and listen to people tell me how much they loved him. And they will all come because they all loved him because he was Matthew. I used to think myself special because I was the one _he_ loved, but now it just means I'll have to sit there and take it—the condolences, the pity, the tears, the earnest statements that he was too young. I can't do it, Sybil. I can't face what's on the other side of that door. I can't hear about what a wonderful person he was because I hate him. I hate him for leaving me like this. I hate him for letting me be so happy and then taking it away."

Sybil felt a measure of relief as Mary's grief poured angrily out of her. Mary was a fighter—a storm braver as Matthew, himself, had once put it—and her anger was a sign that she was fighting. Despondence would have worried Sybil, but in her mind, anger was a healthy emotion and a hopeful sign to her that Mary would survive.

At the end of her litany, Mary had not thrown herself back down on the bed, but as she sat now, she stared determinedly out the window. Sybil scooted up and placed the baby on her lap.

"Sybil—"

"You don't have to do any of the things you just said. No matter what anyone says. I will keep every mourner away from you . . . but you can't turn _him_ away. You are his mother." Sybil took one of Mary's arms and held it against the baby, then did the same with the other. Finally, she brought her hand to Mary's face and turned it to face forward, toward herself. "You don't have to do anything," Sybil whispered. "Except for this."

Mary looked in the other direction away from Sybil and away from her baby, but in that moment, he woke and began to whimper, a whimper that within seconds had become a full cry. Sybil watched as Mary's eyes began to water. Then, her shoulders began to shake. Finally, a sob escaped, then another, and another, until the mother's cries were as loud as those of the baby she held in her arms. Sybil scooted forward and gathered mother and son in her arms and let them both cry for the man they had lost.

* * *

_Mary smiled on seeing her father. "I know how much you dislike children, but I had a feeling you wouldn't stay away."_

_Her words broke Robert's heart. He stopped in his tracks to compose himself._ This is her last moment of happiness _, he thought._ Nothing will ever feel like this again.

_"_ _Darling," he said, once he'd reached her bed._

_Mary narrowed her eyes. "What's wrong with you? Are you ill? Is that why you are here?"_

_Robert kneeled next to her bed and took her hand. "There was an accident on the road to the house not two hours ago, after Matthew left the hospital."_

_Mary gasped. "Is he all right? Where is he now?" She grabbed the covers and moved to push them off of herself, not caring that her father was seeing her in nightclothes, but Robert stood quickly and put his hands on her shoulders to keep her where she was._

_"_ _Mary, stop."_

_"_ _Stop? What? If Matthew's hurt, I want to make sure he's all right. Where is he?"_

_"_ _Mary, stop."_

_Mary heard something in her father's voice the second time. "Where is he?"_

_Robert's breathing became labored, as if he were going to start crying again._

_Mary began to grow agitated. "Papa, where is he?"_

_"_ _Mary—"_

_"_ _Tell me where he is!"_

_"_ _Mary, he's gone."_

_"_ _WHERE IS HE?"_

_"_ _Mary, I am so sorry to tell you that—"_

_"_ _No, he was just here. You just have to tell me where he is."_

_"_ _Mary, please."_

_"_ _No, I need to see him. Where is he? Let me go!"_

_It had taken all of Robert's strength not to break down when he saw the lifeless body of his son-in-law and heir, laid up on the stretcher on which he'd been carried into the hospital. So it wouldn't surprise anyone that when Mary managed to stand and push past him, he had little left with which to hold her back._

_The door opened before Mary could get to it. Sybil was standing there with Tom just behind her. He obviously knew and had just told Sybil who still wore the shock on her face._

_"_ _I need to see him," Mary said._

_Immediately, Robert spoke up behind her. "Sybil, bring her back here. She needs to lie down!"_

_Sybil hesitated for a second before turning to Tom. "Where is he?"_

_Tom was torn. He asked himself whether Matthew would want Mary to see him in such a state as he was—whether he would want Sybil to see him—but before he could formulate a complete thought, Sybil spoke again. "Tell me or I'll just look myself."_

_Tom nodded, resigned, and turned to guide them toward the basement room that served as the hospital's morgue._

_Robert, on their heels, "Tom, Sybil, this is ridiculous. Stop at once!"_

_But he was ignored._

_It was a short walk, to the end of the hall and down the stairs. Mary would be forgiven for not remembering it later, but she did. Every plank of wood beneath her bare feet. Every imperfection visible on the flaking white paint on the walls, which felt like they were closing in on her. Neither Tom nor Sybil spoke to her, for which she was grateful. Her father's voice, entreating her to go back to her room, felt far away and muffled even though he was right behind her._

_When they arrived, the door to the room was open and Mary heard Tom say, "Pardon . . . may we . . . may we have the room, please."_

_Whoever was inside seemed to recognize Tom and stepped out. Mary stepped forward, but felt a sudden pull on her arm. It was Sybil._

_"Are you sure?"_

_"I need to see him."_

_"You can't unsee it. I won't stop you, but I need you to tell me you're sure."_

_Mary felt like she couldn't catch her breath. "I need to see him," she repeated._

_She stepped into the room and was about halfway to the only bed on which there appeared to be a body before she realized she was alone. Sybil had intended to walk in with her, but Tom held her back at the door. Mary didn't care._

I need to see him _, she repeated internally to herself._

_The bed was low to the ground. She didn't know whether she should sit next to him or kneel. Finally, she just bent over, grabbed a fistful of the sheet and pulled it away unceremoniously._

_She squeezed her eyes shut immediately and looked away. Robert pushed past Sybil, who had put her hands over her eyes and turned into her husband's chest once more, and was at Mary's side in an instant. He put his arm around her to pull her away, but she stopped him._

_"Wait," Mary said quietly._

_She kneeled and with her sleeve began to clean off the blood coming out of his right ear. She ran her fingers through his hair several times. Finally, as gently as she could, she closed his eyes._

_She stood and looked at her father. "Papa?"_

_"Oh, my darling, would that I could take this pain away."_

_Mary turned toward Tom and Sybil, then back toward her father._

_Then, she fainted into his arms._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever since I started writing this story I have thought of at least a dozen different ways to write Mary's reaction. To a certain extent, given how all-encompassing her grief would be, it feels as if there is no right way to do it. So with that in mind, this is one version. I hope that if nothing else, it feels true.


	17. Chapter 17

**One Week**

The house felt unusually quiet. Isobel had been living alone in it, with only her housekeeper and cook, for more than a year now. She had gotten to used to the silences that marked her life as a widow whose son had left to make his own home. She had even come to enjoy those silences and the opportunity they offered to think about her life and how she could make it useful to the world.

This was different, however. It wasn't just the quiet.

The house felt empty.

Lifeless.

 _He's gone_.

It was a thought she couldn't escape. No matter how she tried to distract her mind, everything came back around to that thought, the memory of hearing those words uttered for the first time, every few minutes.

Isobel was not one for tears, had never been. And very few were the tears that she had shed for Matthew. Perhaps if crying were something she felt comfortable doing, the catharsis might have made her feel marginally better. Crying might have allowed her to shed a fraction of the crippling pain she felt. But she couldn't muster the tears. So she sat alone in her bedroom, in her quiet, empty, lifeless house.

A gentle knock on the door startled her.

Her housekeeper and cook, Mrs. Jenkins (who had replaced Ethel when Ethel had gone to be nearer to her son) opened the door slowly and peeked her head in.

"Begging your pardon, mum, but the Dowager Countess is here."

Isobel didn't turn to answer. "Is she waiting in the motor or did she come inside?"

"She's in the parlor, mum. She said to take all the time you needed."

Isobel nodded but continued to stare at the wall. Not hearing the door close again, Isobel finally turned. Mrs. Jenkins was half in, half out of the room, wearing a simple black coat and hat.

Seeing that she had her mistress' attention, she spoke quietly again, "I thought I'd pay my respects. I know I didn't know Mr. Crawley well, neither did I ever work for him, but if you don't think it an imposition, mum . . ."

Isobel, touched, offered a small smile. "That's very thoughtful, Mrs. Jenkins. Yes, you may come with us to the funeral. And if you'd like to take the rest of the day, you may. There's no need to make dinner tonight."

"Will you be going to the Abbey after, then?"

Isobel hesitated. "No, I'll be coming back here, but I don't have much of an appetite at the moment. A sandwich will suffice, and I can do at least that much for myself."

Isobel turned away again, indicating to Mrs. Jenkins that the conversation was over. Mrs. Jenkins watched her for a moment wondering if she should say something else, but not knowing what she could say, she simply closed the door and went on her way.

Even knowing that Violet was waiting for her, Isobel did not stand and move to leave right away. She felt no need to hurry, and anyway she knew that Violet wouldn't rush her. She thought momentarily of Mary, of the small child that Mary had just brought into the world. Isobel wished that she could be of more help to her daughter-in-law and her grandson. But she couldn't, not on this day. Perhaps if the funeral has been held a day or two after Matthew's death, then the lingering shock that had initially kept her emotions at bay might have carried her through. But the shock was gone, and all that was left was sadness and emptiness.

When Isobel had lost her husband, the presence of her son had been enough to keep her moving forward, but the poor babe who had been left fatherless this time had not been in the world long enough. He was not enough to motivate Isobel on his own. And anyway, his mother would need him more than Isobel would. Isobel would not, if she could help it, get in the way of Mary's grief.

Reginald, too, had been taken too young. Still, he had lived enough of life not to make his death the tragedy Matthew's death was. Reginald had seen his son grow to graduate from university. He had been ill for some months when death came, so his departure from the world was a welcome respite for both his weary body and for Isobel, who spent her every waking minute caring for him in his final days and weeks.

And her son's shoulder had been there for her to lean on.

She looked over to her night table. There was a picture of Reginald there and one of Matthew taken just before he left for war. Matthew looked solemn but handsome in his uniform. Isobel had prepared herself for his death during the war. How could she not expect it when so many died? But he came through, not unscathed, but alive. The day his son was born should have marked the start of a new life for Matthew as well.

Isobel brought her hand to her face and was surprised to feel tears on her cheeks. She took the handkerchief that he'd been holding in her hands and wiped her hands and face quietly. After taking a deep breath, she stood and finally headed downstairs.

When Isobel entered the parlor downstairs, Violet looked up as if Isobel had walked in at the precise moment Violet had expected her to.

"Shall we have some tea?" Violet asked, as if Isobel had merely stepped out of the parlor just now to go to the powder room and was returning to continue a conversation.

Isobel shook her head. "Let's be on our way."

Putting her weight on her cane, Violet stood. As the two reached the door, Isobel felt Violet's hand on her arm and turned toward her.

"I do not want my grief to be a burden to you or to diminish yours," Violet said, her voice steady but clearly emotional. "I do want to say, however, that I am so very sorry he is gone. Matthew made an unwelcome entrance into our lives, by virtue of the tragedy that propelled him to the position of heir. But he became a part of us. We are all grateful that he came here. I hope you don't find regret in any of it."

Isobel considered Violet's words. Violet was certainly not one to waste emotion, so Isobel knew that the sentiment— _don't wish that you'd never come to Downton_ —was important enough to Violet to express out loud. Still, Isobel wasn't sure how to respond.

"He would never regret coming to Downton, so how could I?"

Violet nodded and smiled sadly, before moving toward the door.

Falling into step next to her, Isobel asked, "How is Mary?"

Violet sighed. "Not as well as Dr. Clarkson would like. We're all glad she is back home, but it has to be difficult to be surrounded by so many reminders of him. It's a terrible thing to have to face after such a physical trial as child birth."

"She has George, at least," Isobel said. "I've been a widow who was left behind with a child. It's something altogether different to wake up and realize you have out lived your entire family."

Violet stopped and regarded Isobel for a long moment. "It's a good thing you _haven't_ out lived your _entire_ family."

With a stomp of her cane she was out the door. Isobel felt very small. It was wrong to compare her grief to Mary's and suggest the young widow had it any easier. And she appreciated Violet's gentle reprimand, but, alas, it did not make her feel any less alone.

When she finally followed Violet outside, she was surprised to find Sybil and Tom waiting in the front seat of the motor. On seeing the two women approach, both got out of the vehicle. Tom moved quickly to open the door and help Violet inside, while Sybil walked to Isobel, and without a word, took her arm, as if Isobel needed help walking. Isobel might have protested, but Sybil's hand felt warm. The support, physical and emotional, was welcome.

Before Isobel climbed in, Sybil squeezed her arm gently, as if to call her back and said very quietly, "I've promised Mary that no matter what duty calls her to do, she only has to endure as much as she is able today. I'd like to offer the same to you. If at any point, you need help of some kind, Tom and I will do what we can."

By this point, Tom had come over to stand behind Sybil, and so it was to both of them that Isobel responded. "Thank you," she said. She hesitated a moment, and then added, "I'm glad fate brought you back here. I know Matthew was grateful for that as well."

Tom and Sybil looked at one another and smiled sadly back at Isobel. Once she was seated, Tom and Sybil took their seats up front. Tom started the engine, and they were on their way. As he drove, he reached out for Sybil. Their hands rested between them, fingers interlaced, for the duration of the short ride to the church.

* * *

_Sybil closed the door to Mary's hospital room and looked up to see her husband and father. Both looked exhausted, beaten. But this day was not over. There was no light at the end of this tunnel, only darkness._

_"_ _Is she asleep?" Robert asked, his voice hoarse._

_Sybil shook her head. "Her eyes are closed, but I think she just wants to shut the world out for a bit, and who can blame her? She needs time to process this and knowing Mary, it's best that we leave her alone for now." Sybil squeezed her hands together for a moment. Then, looking at Tom, she added, "I intended to head back to the house this afternoon, but obviously, I can't now."_

_"_ _I know," Tom said quietly._

_Sybil nodded._

_"_ _We should go," Robert said, looking at Tom. "I want to get this ugly business over with. Will you follow me in your motor again?"_

_Tom looked confused for a moment. He had not intended to leave Sybil at the hospital to deal with Mary's grief on her own, but before he could speak to say as much to Robert, he felt Sybil's hand on his arm, squeezing it. He knew immediately what she meant by the gesture._

Go.

_Tom's shoulders slumped slightly. "I will," he said, gesturing to Robert. "Go ahead. I'll be right behind you."_

_Robert looked back and forth between his daughter and son-in-law, then, reluctantly, left them in the empty hospital corridor._

_"_ _I don't want to be away from you right now, Sybil," Tom said, pulling her into his arms._

_"_ _I know," Sybil said, closing her eyes and feeling hot tears sliding down her cheeks. "But you have to go. He needs your help."_

_Tom pulled away. "And you?"_

_"_ _I need to see Mary through this."_

_"_ _Who will see_ you _through it?"_

_"_ _You . . . by making sure the house doesn't fall apart."_

_Tom smiled sadly. "Am I really the person for such a task?"_

_"_ _Matthew thought so."_

_Tom felt his resolve start to crumble, but after a deep breath, he collected himself, kissed Sybil fiercely and left. After Tom was out of sight, Sybil looked back at the closed door and considered going back in. Instead, she walked over to where she knew the baby had been taken. As she watched him sleep, Sybil tried to focus on the happiness she had felt less than an hour before. She couldn't. She thought about the fact that the baby's age would mark the amount of time—hours, days, weeks, and eventually, years—that Matthew was not with them._

_"_ _An unfair burden, to be sure," she whispered into the air._

_Sybil bent down to touch the baby and abruptly pulled her hand back to cover her mouth, realizing her father and Tom had left without seeing him._

_She swallowed her tears and spoke again, louder this time. "You won't get lost in this, not again, not ever, darling nephew. I promise."_

* * *

_When Tom had made it outside, he saw that Robert and Pratt had waited for him. Tom waved at them and in minutes, both cars were on their way. When they made it to the house, rather than heading to the garage, Tom pulled up behind Pratt, who had circled onto the drive to leave Robert at the front door._

_Together, the two men walked in and headed directly to the library, where Cora, Violet, Isobel and Edith continued to chat over tea. After pausing for a second at the entryway to the room, Robert continued in with a purpose to his stride that surprised Tom and belied the veritable maelstrom of emotions running through Robert's head. When he'd walked in, Robert wasn't sure what he would say—or even whom he would address. He considered pulling Isobel aside, but quickly dismissed that idea. He would not say the news more times than he could help. And anyway, it would help if they could all hear it together._

_Before he'd made it all the way in, Cora spoke. "Robert, where in the world did you go off to? Carson came in, said you were gone and went right back out."_

_Robert and Tom looked at each other and in that moment both Violet and Cora recognized something in Robert and immediately knew tragedy of some kind was upon them._

_Cora stood quickly and said, "What's going on, Robert?"_

_At the same time, Violet called out, "What's happened!?"_

_"_ _There's been a car accident," Robert said solemnly, not looking at anyone in particular. "Matthew collided with a lorry on the road back from the village. He . . . "_

_The words seemed to get stuck in Robert's throat, but in his hesitation, Isobel responded quickly. "Has he been taken to the hospital—I'll go immediately." She moved to stand, but even before she'd had a chance to, Tom was stood before her. He kneeled in front of her and took her hand and Robert completed his sentence._

_"_ _He's gone."_


	18. Chapter 18

**One month**

Edith was startled when she felt Michael's hands on her shoulders. She was standing at the window of his flat, looking down on the busy street below, and though she hadn't been standing there long, it had been long enough for her to get lost in her thoughts.

Despite her start, he didn't move away. Edith smiled at him over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Whatever could you be sorry for?" Michael asked.

"You've invited me here for a visit, and I'm not much company," she answered.

"How could you be expected to be," he said. "Really, it was rather selfish of me to ask that you come after what's happened, at a time when you'd be expected to be with your family."

Edith sighed and looked back out the window. "If you're selfish for asking me here, what am I for accepting the offer?" She paused for a moment, then added. "Not that it matters. I was in everyone's way at Downton. Mama looked almost relieved when I told her I was coming."

"It must have been such a shock," Michael said gently. "He's there one moment, and gone the next. I imagine everyone has to grieve in their own way."

Edith considered these words for a moment. It was true that everyone seemed to have had a different reaction to Matthew's death. Her father had consumed himself with the affairs of the estate, her mother hovered over Mary and her son as if their lives hung in the balance, and Sybil and Tom had taken it upon themselves to see to the running of the house, so that neither it, nor any of its inhabitants fell apart. The feeling of being the odd one out was not unfamiliar to Edith, but this event had magnified it to an almost unbearable degree. She had loved Matthew as a brother, and she missed him every day he had been gone, but her loss felt small—insignificant, even—next to everyone else's. How could Edith compare what she was feeling to Isobel, who had lost a son, or Robert, who had lost an heir for the second time in his life and a man he had come to see as a son, or Mary, who had lost the love of her life?

 _Mary_.

A month into this new Matthew-less world, Edith still didn't know what to think with regards to Mary. They'd not spoken more than a handful of times since he'd died, but Mary was never far from Edith's thoughts. Even in the face of such a tragedy, Edith couldn't bring herself to think of her older sister as someone to be pitied. "Poor Edith" was a phrase in such common use among her family and their acquaintances, it felt like something of a joke, even to Edith herself. But Mary? Her life had never been less than perfect. Even when she was dealt nasty blows, things always seemed to come out in her favor in the end. But what now?

Edith couldn't deny the role she'd played over the years in the enmity between herself and her older sister, but even so how could anyone deny that Downton was Mary's world. Edith just lived it in. For better or for worse, that had been the guiding principle of Edith's life. But it no longer felt true. It was as if Matthew's death had ruptured the very fabric of the world in which Edith and her family existed. Edith had always thought Mary to be the center around which life at Downton revolved, but now she saw things differently. Matthew and Matthew alone had been the true lynch pin. From the moment he'd stepped into their lives, he had been what held them all together, and his departure had set them all adrift into an unknown universe. One might have attributed this reality to Matthew's role as heir, but even the love she had felt for Patrick did not blind Edith to the fact that despite having grown alongside the Crawley daughters, he never grew to become so essential as Matthew, in his absence, now felt.

Edith closed her eyes and tried to picture Patrick. She hadn't thought of him in some time. The picture of a young man that formed in her mind's eye. He was handsome, cocksure and young. Edith opened her eyes again startled by the notion that her image of him would never age—could never age. She'd passed him in age many years ago. She and everyone had left him behind.

"It's funny," she said quietly. "Well, not funny . . . ironic, perhaps. When my cousin Patrick died, I could not imagine how we'd go on. How we'd ever embrace his . . . _replacement_. But we did. I daresay it will be harder even to let Matthew go."

Michael shook his head. Having gotten lost in watching her look out the window, he was rather startled to hear her actually speak after a long silence.

"You'll overcome this too," Michael said gently. "Life moves ever forward, whether we want it to or not. And we must move with it."

"He thought this was a bad idea," she said, looking at Michael, and Michael could see that this was a truth that pained her to admit. "Not _you_ exactly . . . the situation."

"I know," Michael said, smiling sadly. "He believed you deserve more than I am able to give you."

"I wish I felt like I deserved anything." Edith looked at the window again, and Michael sighed as he watched her eyes water. Wiping at her cheeks, she added, "I'd made up my mind that I didn't care what he thought."

"Now you wish he were here to stop you?"

Edith smiled sadly. "He wouldn't try to stop me. He'd warn me, but he wouldn't try to stop me. And anyway, what concern could I possibly be when his son . . ."

Michael tightened his arms around Edith and she shifted into his embrace.

"Oh, Michael," she said, "I wish I could take back all the times I thought life was unfair. There's been so many times I've thought it, said it, and for so many different reasons." She looked up to him, "Like you and me."

Michael kissed her forehead.

"It's unfortunate, not unfair," she said tucking her head under his chin. "The truth is I didn't know how unfair life could be until Matthew died. I didn't know the half of it."

* * *

_There was a moment, between the time when the fact of Matthew's death was spoken aloud and when it registered in the mind of Isobel. Tom, kneeling in front of her, watched her eyes, always so bright, and thought of his own mother._

_Like Isobel, Claire Branson was a resourceful woman who valued hard work and common sense. No matter what life brought her, she did not suffer. She was too busy to suffer._

_Before this day, Tom would have said the same of Isobel. But no matter how much Tom might have wanted to protect her from what came after the words were uttered by Robert—"he's gone"—he couldn't. There was no saving any of them._

_Isobel blinked several times in seeming disbelief, her eyes progressively darkening each time she opened them again. Tom watched as the brightness in her expression dimmed before his eyes. He wanted so much to be able to say something that would save her from despair, but he couldn't._

" _Robert what is the meaning of this?" Violet's sharp voice rang out in the hollowness that Robert's news had left in its wake. "What cruel trick is this?"_

" _I'm sorry, mama, but it is not a trick," Robert said wearily. "I only wish it were."_

" _Where is Mary?" Cora asked, her voice strained with slowly mounting desperation._

_Before Robert or Tom could respond to Cora, Isobel seemed to snap in action and stood up. She had not taken three steps, however, when she lost her footing and would have fallen to the floor had Tom and Edith not reacted to catch her._

" _Robert, answer me! What about Mary?" Cora insisted._

" _She's at the hospital with the baby, of course," he snapped back, his grief momentarily turning to anger. "Where else would she be!? She's fine—as fine as any woman would be who birthed a child and lost her husband on the same day!"_

_His words only angered Cora further. "SHE KNOWS!?"_

" _I need to get to the hospital," Isobel began whispering frantically._

" _I'll take you," Tom said quietly, trying to guide her with Edith's help toward the door._

" _He was going to be taken to the hospital," Robert said, answered Cora. "How could I risk her seeing him? We had to tell her first."_

" _There was no other way," Tom added._

_But Cora ignored him and continued to look at Robert, equal parts heartbroken and angry. "How could you do that to our daughter without telling me first!? How could you tell her such a thing without me to be there for her!"_

" _Sybil is with her," Tom spoke up again._

" _I need to get to the hospital," Isobel continued to repeat._

_Cora's shoulders slackened and she turned to Tom, only somewhat mollified. "Good . . . still, I should be there."_

" _Cora, please," Robert pleaded, "She needs quiet and rest."_

" _He's right," Violet said, stepping toward her daughter-in-law._

_Cora headed to the door. "I will not be kept from my daughter at this time!"_

" _I need to get to the hospital," Isobel repeated, this time pulling her arm away from Tom and Edith and walking on her own as if she intended to march directly from the Downton library to the hospital where her son's body lay._

_Tom looked between Robert and Violet before saying, "We're going," and following Isobel to the entrance hall, with Cora on their heels._

_Violet moved to Edith, squeezed her arm and said, "Go with them and stay with Isobel. She can't be alone right now."_

_Feeling somewhat shellshocked, Edith did not move to go._

" _Edith!" Violet said pointing to the door._

" _What about . . ."_

" _What about what?" Violet responded._

" _Should Mr. Murray be called?" Edith offered quietly._

" _Whatever for?" Robert asked, irritated. "I mean, yes, he will but this is really not the time to—"_

" _She's absolutely right," Violet said, her voice grave._

" _Mama—"_

" _No, Robert," Violet cut in. "The birth and death certificates should be filed in order. There may be no reason to worry, but let's dot the I's and cross the T's or do you want another crisis of succession on your hands?"_

_Robert rubbed his forehead with his hand. "Why must it always come to this?"_

" _It's who we are," Violet said. "I'll make the call." Turning to Edith, she added, "Thank you, darling," and took her arm so they could walk out of the room together._

_Left alone, Robert sank into one of the chairs and let the tears that had been pushing against his eyes run freely down his cheeks. After a short time, he heard the sound of the motor moving over the gravel driveway. He thought that he should have gone outside to see them off but remained where he sat. Exhausted and heartbroken._

_He didn't know how long he sat there before hearing Carson clear his throat beside him, but his tears had since dried. Looking up at the imposing butler, Robert felt a measure of comfort in his steadfastness._

" _Yes, Carson?"_

" _Just wanted to ask if anything could be done for milord?"_

_Robert sighed. "Call up the staff to the main hall," he said standing up. "It's time they were told."_

* * *

"Is she asleep?"

Tom nodded to Sybil, who was already in bed, when he came back from the nursery, where Sybbie had begun to spend her nights only the previous week.

Tom sat down in the armchair next to the bed with a sigh. Sybil put down the book on her lap and watched him for a moment as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the back of the chair. With a small smile, she stood and walked over to him. Tom didn't open his eyes, but Sybil saw the corners of his mouth curl up slightly as she leaned over him and pushed his jacket of his shoulders.

"I wish she weren't so far away," he said quietly, eyes still closed.

"She's not so far away," Sybil said as she set his jacket aside and moved to unbutton his waistcoat. "She's not a baby anymore, darling. No matter how much I wish she could have stayed sleeping in the bassinet next to the bed."

Tom sighed and finally opened his eyes. "She's further away than I'd like is all. In a cottage, she could sleep in the next room and if she cried, we could hear her. "

"I know." Sybil sat on Tom's lap and he pulled her into him. "I wish we could go like we planned, but—"

"I know."

Sybil hugged Tom tighter.

"You know I don't much like the notion of putting the children away, but she's too old to share our room now and too young to sleep on her own. In the nursery, Lily is with her and . . ."

"And?"

"And this way, George is not alone up there."

"George is never alone up there," Tom replied. "His half-dozen nurses and nannies make sure of that."

Sybil pulled back to look Tom in the eye. "You know what I mean."

He scratched his head, then looked at Sybil again with a sad smile. "I do."

Sybil stood and held out her hand. "Come to bed, Mr. Branson."

Tom smiled, genuinely. "Whatever you say, Mrs. Branson."


	19. Chapter 19

_I know it's been a long, looong time since I've updated this story, but I'm determined to push through to the end despite my long absence. This chapter picks back up at the start of series 4, which begins about six months after Matthew's death. The last chapter took place one month after Matthew's death, so this is about five months after that. The family continues to plod on after the tragedy, and Sybil and Tom are both working and trying to keep the family together. These next chapters will reference the plot points on the show but won't necessarily reengineer them all—just enough that we get a sense of how the stories would have gone with Sybil still present. In this very short update, we have the moment of Nanny Grey's firing, and Sybil's day leading up to it, which explains where she is emotionally._

_A lot happens at the start of series four and I'll get into much of it soon. This just eases us back into the story, which I need, given how long it's been._

_As always, please let me know what you think._

* * *

There was a spot in the alley behind the hospital where the back wall of the building came in several feet. Sybil supposed the small recess, just wide enough for a person to step into and not be seen from the street, served some architectural purpose, but she didn't give it much thought. She liked stepping into it and pretending that—just for a moment—she was hidden from the world, from her responsibilities, from the worries weighing on her.

As long as she stood in the tiny space, where nobody could see her, if she cried, nobody would know.

She didn't cry often. And she wasn't sure why she was crying today.

It may have been the patient she and Dr. Clarkson had lost that morning.

It may have been for her sister, who, six months removed from the loss of her husband, still showed no sign of emerging from her depths to which her sadness had sunk her.

It may have been because of her mother, who had insisted that morning at breakfast that Sybil not interrupt her daughter's morning routine in the nursery and go on to the hospital without saying goodbye.

And it may have because of Sybbie herself, who now routinely spent all but an hour or so of her day away from her parents.

It had never been Sybil's intention that her children be raised by a nanny, certainly not one so off-putting as Sybil found Nanny Gray, who had originally been hired to care only for George, and only after a string of three or four—everyone had lost count—had been sacked or gone of their own accord for reasons that seemed legitimate in the moment but really amounted to nothing in the scheme of things. It was a reflection of the malaise still affecting the house and the mourners within, frustration continually taken out on the member of the household least able to and yet most expected to understand what George's presence in the house meant about the absence of his father.

Wanting to give a measure of constancy in the tiny boy's life, Sybil moved her daughter to the nursery, but what had been a well-intentioned decision on her part not to leave George on his own, gave way to a kind of relief that she wasn't expecting and the salve that work provided Sybil. Lily became Sybbie's primary caregiver until another opportunity took her away, but by then Cora had won out. She insisted every day that followed that this was how children were raised, how it had to be done, and there came a point where Sybil was too exhausted to fight. She and Tom accepted Cora's dictum and buried themselves in work, where the still fresh pain of Matthew's loss was not so sharp.

At the hospital, Sybil could put away all her worries about her family and Downton and whether or not they were getting through life without Matthew. She could store them in a compartment in her mind and just be a nurse for a while. It offered Sybil a reprieve, and she clung to it. Until days like today when a patient could not be saved no matter the effort she put in and there was death again, reminding her that it could not be avoided.

Wiping the last of her tears, Sybil took a deep breath and made her way around to the entrance to begin the last hour of her shift. As she approached the stairs up to the door she saw a small woman sitting on the bottom one breathing heavily.

"Beg yer pardon, nurse, but this baby is comin' and my husbands in York for the week. Thought I'd walk here so someone else could give me hand."

Sybil couldn't help but smile. Death is always present. Always there to remind us that it cannot be avoided—that much is true. But so it is with life. Life is all around us, always prodding us, gently and not so, that we must go on.

When the child screamed into the world and her mother's grateful arms mere minutes later, Sybil realized she wanted nothing more than to hug her child goodnight.

It had been a long day at the hospital and all she wanted to do was see her daughter before bed. She came in without bothering to remove her hat and coat. The ladies were walking through to the drawing room, and Cora offered to go with her. It turned out to be a blessing.

Alone, Sybil might have lunged at the nanny, and it would not do for Sybbie to have a mother tossed in jail for physically assaulting another person.

She couldn't speak. She could barely move, but Cora reacted quickly and took control of the situation. She could feel the bile rise up from her stomach as the woman tried to defend herself, and it was only Cora's hand on her shoulder that held her back.

"If you speak another word in my daughter's presence, so help me …" Sybil said.

Whether it was Sybil's tone, her words, her clenched fists or something else. Nanny West got the message. Weeping—a sound that grated Sybil like nails on a chalkboard—the woman set to packing.

Once Mrs. Hughes and the now former nanny were out of the room, Sybil walked over to Sybbie, who immediately brightened upon sight of her mother. Sybil pushed every hateful thought out of her mind—she would not hold her daughter with anything in her mind but love—and lifted her out of her crib.

"Would you like to sleep with mummy and da, my darling?"

Cora sighed. "Sybil—"

"Mama, please don't."

Sybil turned to her mother, took a deep breath and said, "We tried it your way and it didn't work. You may insist on hiring another nanny, but I will insist that Tom and I can care for our own daughter."

When Sybil left the room, with her daughter in her arms, Cora sighed and thought, _I suppose that was better than "I told you so."_

**Author's Note:**

> So, yes, Tom punches Robert. It had to be done didn't it :)
> 
> Some additional background on that: When reconstructing the scene in my head, adding the very vocal Isobel into the heart of the quarrel, it occurred to me that it would take drastic action to get everyone to stop fretting and arguing and focused on the fact that they needed to get Sybil to the hospital ASAP. My thought was that as the power struggle between Tom and Robert comes to the fore, Tom feels like Sybil and his baby are both dying and Robert is standing in the way of saving their lives, so he acts out of anger and desperation. The punch silences everyone. Then, without apology, Tom asks Matthew to help him get Sybil into the car, which Matthew does without a word. Cora and Tom stay at the hospital through the night and through Sybil's delivery, at the end of which Cora assures Tom that she will mend things with Robert. The next chapter adds a few more details on that.


End file.
